


Could You Maybe Calm Down

by howboutinotdothis



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: College AU, Counselling, I'll add more characters later, M/M, Slow Burn, like slow af, probably ooc as heck, some other background relationships but mostly connor/evan, this is all based off stuff I've read and the original cast recording
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 17:41:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10142126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howboutinotdothis/pseuds/howboutinotdothis
Summary: Evan Hansen has the misfortune of being caught staring at Connor in the counseling center.





	1. What Kind of College Student Goes to Counselling at 8 in the Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Idk how to write Connor, so comments are much appreciated!

Evan tugs on his backpack strap, trying to ignore the discomfort the uneven tightness of the straps causes. The hallway by the elevator banks is empty, so hopefully he’ll get an elevator by himself; the whole who-gets-off-the-elevator-first thing always makes him feel anxious. Well, more anxious than usual is probably a better description.

The elevator doors open, and he steps inside, pushing the button for the fourth floor.

The elevator begins its shaky ascent, which always makes him a little worried that it’s going to suddenly plummet to the bottom of the elevator shaft, crumpling in on itself like a smashed soup can. Thankfully—or maybe not thankfully, he doesn’t know—the elevator doors slide open and he steps out, feeling a little better when he sees this hallway is empty too. Unsurprisingly enough, most college students don’t roll out of bed at eight in the morning to hang around the student counselling center.

Evan shuffles toward the sign that points to the counselling center, reaching in the pocket of his jeans to reassure himself that his student ID is still there. Not that it could’ve really gone anywhere, what with him checking for it every five seconds on his walk over from his dorm. Without a student ID, he’d have to ask the receptionist to check him in, and he’d inevitably embarrass himself while stuttering and stammering through his request, and then he’d spend his whole session ruminating over the interaction, thinking of how much better it could have gone, thinking of how incompetent he is for messing up something so simple.

So, yeah. Evan tries to keep a close eye on his student ID.

He passes by the doors of a few offices, taking a moment to read the inspirational quote on the whiteboard hanging on one of them. Today it’s “always focus on how far you’ve come, rather than how far you have left to go.” Wiggly lines denote what Evan thinks is supposed to be a path with a tiny stick figuring walking along it. Sometimes, Evan wonders if anyone really appreciates the quotes—are there people who look at the motivational nonsense and feel uplifted, or does everyone just ignore it, unaffected by the nice words and poor drawings?

Deciding he’s paused in front of the door long enough, worried that the counsellor whose office it is might catch him looking and pull him into a conversation, he walks to the waiting room, immediately making his way to the screen for self-check-in. The receptionist doesn’t spare him a glance; she sips her coffee he assumes she bought at the Starbucks in the book store, eyes glazed over as she skims something on the computer screen. Evan swipes his student ID and taps the option to check in for his nine o’clock appointment, waiting until his request has gone through and the screen has returned to the instructional page. Then he walks to the chair he always sits in. It’s identical to all the ones beside it—scuffed plastic frame, uncomfortable cushions with an ugly pattern, and always just a little wobbly. His is the one he’s determined to be the least wobbly and it puts him with his back to the aquarium that bubbles comfortingly and the wooden brochure stand loaded with brightly colored pamphlets promising to teach you how to alleviate loneliness or how to control your anger or how to drink less.

Evan pulls out his textbook for environmental science, flipping to the chapter he’s supposed to have read by noon that day. He read it a few nights ago, but there’s no harm in rereading it so he can keep up better in lecture. The professor speeds through the material, and Evan only ever manages to get the main points down in his notes, so finding out the details are all on him, and, if he doesn’t pass this class, he can’t take the other classes for his major, and then he’ll have to switch majors, and there’s really nothing else the school offers that Evan likes, and if he has to retake the class, he’ll be a year behind, and he’s already a year behind everyone else because he took a gap year to save up money for college, and _God he’s never going to graduate_ —

The sound of loud footsteps coming down the hallway distracts Evan from what was guaranteed to be a pretty intense anxiety attack if how shallowly he’s breathing is any indication. He looks up to find a boy he recognizes from his English 102 class stomping down the hallway, looking extremely unpleased to be at the counselling center this early in the morning.

Averting his eyes before he can accidentally make eye contact, Evan returns his gaze to his environmental textbook, watching with his peripheral vision as the newcomer stomps right past the self-check-in to the receptionist, slapping his student ID down onto the counter loudly.

The woman looks away from her computer screen, eyes first going to the plastic card on the counter before dragging up the boy’s torso and settling on his face. “Something I can help you with, honey?”

“What do you think?”

The boy’s voice confirms Evan’s suspicion that this is the same boy who sits two rows in front of him in English 102. He always storms in at least 10 minutes late, making quite the racket, earning himself their professor’s ire. The professor is a nice woman in her early forties who seems to have an extreme interest bordering on unhealthy obsession with Shakespeare, so she’s generally understanding about tardiness and whatnot, but, apparently, arriving to every class late with no pretense of trying to slip in unnoticed is enough to try even her patience.

The receptionist’s face twists into a grimace and she drags his student ID across the counter, typing his name into her computer. “Connor Murphy?”

“Yeah.”

“Birthdate?”

Evan tunes out, returning his attention to his textbook as the boy finishes talking to the receptionist and walks to the computer bank beside the self-check-in to fill out the forms they make you complete for the triage appointment. So, he’s having his first appointment and, considering his attitude about the whole ordeal, he’s not the one who scheduled it. Could be mandatory as a part of his punishment for being caught with illegal substances, could have been set up by a concerned parent, could have been set up by a friend—all Evan is really sure of is that Connor doesn’t want to be there.

Stealing a quick look, Evan can see the tension in Connor’s shoulders as he clicks through the questions, seemingly annoyed by the probing questions. Evan remembers when he first filled out those forms; the waiting room had been crowded and he’d been desperately trying to block the computer screen from other people’s eyes as he quickly answered the questions. Connor’s lucky, he supposes. It’s not like Evan’s going to be peering over his shoulder to read his answers. Not that anyone was doing that to him—it just felt like it.

Connor stands up from the computer suddenly, stalking back to the counter without bothering to push the chair back in. “Alright, sweetheart, I’m just going to need you to sign right here.” The receptionist passes him a tablet and Evan sees the boy aggressively scribble his name with his finger before shoving the tablet back to the woman. “Now you can take a seat in the waiting area. Dr. Ellison will come get you shortly.”

Evan quickly looks away, not wanting to be caught watching by Connor. He’s seen enough of his classmate’s outbursts to know that he doesn’t want to be on the receiving end of Connor’s short temper, and people don’t generally take someone staring at them in the counselling center very well.

He picks at a sticky note on the page in his textbook, peeling an edge of it off the page before smoothing it back out and repeating the process. Connor drops into a chair in the row across from Evan and pulls out his phone and a pair of headphones, emanating a “leave me the fuck alone” vibe. He slides the headphones over his ears and leans his head back, closing his eyes.

So. Evan doesn’t have to worry about unwanted conversation.

He returns his textbook to his backpack, pulling out his phone from one of the smaller pockets and checking the time. 8:54. Just six minutes until Dr. Miller comes to get him and he follows her to her office and talks about problems that aren’t really problems and ignores his real issues and promises to get to writing those letters—really, he will. Eventually.

The six minutes pass slowly as Evan looks-but-doesn’t-look at Connor, wondering why he’s there. He heard a kid in his row call him a stoner, so maybe an RM caught him with pot and he has to do the whole substance abuse counselling thing? Although, those are generally group therapy sessions, and they don’t do a triage appointment for it. Something else, then. Maybe anger management issues? He could’ve gotten into a fight with the wrong person and been reported, and now he’s required to go to counselling or he’ll get expelled?

“What the fuck are you looking at?”

Apparently, while Evan was zoning out trying to figure out why Connor was here, Connor stopped listening to his music and caught Evan staring at him like a total freak. Great. Just great.

“I-I, um, sorry, I d-didn’t—”

“Evan? Ready, buddy?” Dr. Miller appears in the waiting room, seemingly materializing out of thin air. Evan’s really not paying attention to his surroundings at _all_ today, is he?

“Uh, y-yeah. Sorry.” Evan picks up his backpack and follows Dr. Miller back to her office, all the while feeling Connor’s eyes on him.

Well. Shit.


	2. What Kind of College Student Showers at 3 in the Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan gets a new prescription.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all Evan-centric, but another character is introduced! More Connor and Evan interaction in the next chapter though
> 
> This is unbetaed so hopefully spellcheck didn't fail me but if it did feel free to hit me up and I'll fix whatever

_“How are you, sweetie? How was your appointment?”_

Evan toes the cement floor with his sneaker, trying to decide on an answer a little less hefty than “I’m horrible, and now I’ve pissed off a kid I’m going to have to see tomorrow in class, where he will most likely murder me because I’m an idiot who can’t do anything right.”

“I’m…good. The appointment was good.” A fine answer. Light, vague, redundant. No room for questions.

_“Have you been keeping up with those letters?”_

“I started one.” Yeah, he got almost all the way through writing “dear Evan Hansen” before crumpling up the paper and tossing it in the trash.

_“Those letters are important, honey, they’re going to help you build your confidence!”_

“Yeah, mom, I know. I’ll write one later.”

Later, when he’s in his dorm room, waiting for his roommate to barge in, drunk off his ass, with whatever girl he picked up downtown. Later, when he’s sitting at his desk, listening to what someone considers to be the “sounds of an autumn forest,” doing his enviro homework. Later, when he’s wishing he’s in the orchard back home, sitting in one of the trees, just existing.

_“Alright, sweetheart. Hope your classes go well tomorrow! Talk to you later!”_

Evan can hear the sound of a turn signal as his mom returns home, preparing to go inside to change out of her scrubs and grab some dinner before heading to class. Living her life without him. It’s probably a lot less stressful, he thinks.

“Yeah. Bye.”

The call ends with a definite _click_ and Evan flips his phone shut, slipping it in his pocket and taking a moment to just…stand in the empty stairwell. It’s the only place in his dorm where he can have some privacy; no one’s going to be climbing the stairs to the twelfth floor. Or, at least, no one has so far this semester.

The walls are peeling, revealing gray beneath the bland beige, and the floor is covered in scuff marks and oddly colored stains. The stairs are too steep to be comfortable for climbing and they don’t have enough surface area for his feet, so it always feels like he’s about to tumble down and crack his head open. Not exactly the most welcoming environment, but still better than it is in his hall, in his room.

The guys in his hall are nice enough—they’re just too loud, you know? No matter the time of day, Evan can hear someone bursting into hysterical laughter on his floor, and he just wants some quiet. At the start of the semester, he thought maybe the library would be nice and quiet, but, if anything, it’s even worse; groups of girls loudly chatting at the long tables, guys yelling at each other in the tech lounge, this one kid who always drums on the table top in the study carrels and who’s always there like he has nowhere else to go—he could go on. The sacred silence of libraries is apparently a thing of the past, at least on his campus.

He could always go off-campus. Walk down to one of the millions of coffee shops populated by over caffeinated students and young professionals, stake out a table and write his English paper on his mom’s hand-me-down laptop, sipping a bottle of water and eating a cookie because it’s impolite to take a table without purchasing something more than a bottle of water and actual coffee is off the table because that just exacerbates his anxiety, and Evan doesn’t need anything to make his anxiety worse, thank you very much. Or maybe he could walk to one of the public parks, lie down in the grass and stare up at the sky, watching the clouds float by. He could hitch a ride with someone to the national forest that’s only twenty minutes away by car, walk the paths by himself and identify some of the flora, climb a tree…

But he won’t. Because going off-campus involves talking to people, more people than he’s comfortable with talking to. He’s just recently gotten a hang of saying “meal plan, please” and “thank you” to the cashiers in the cafeteria without stuttering and holding up the line and embarrassing himself in front of everyone. Not that he even goes to the cafeteria much—his mom bought him this huge package of protein bars at the start of the semester because they were pretty cheap when bought in bulk, and he’s been having those for most meals. It’s not healthy, but anxiety attacks aren’t healthy either, and it’s not like he’s doing anything _bad_ , there are tons of kids who never go to the caf, and he only got a meal plan because it’s required the first year, so it’s not likely he’s really being wasteful.

Evan finally moves towards the door to his floor, holding his student ID up to the sensor, pulling the door open when the light flashes green. He shuts the door as quietly as possible behind him, walking through the dark hallway. Most of the doors are closed with people busy at work, sleeping, or out downtown. Since it’s a Thursday, the last option is probably the reason the hall is so empty. Thursdays are, apparently, half-priced pitchers at one of the bars downtown that tends to be lax when it comes to IDs.

He holds his card against the sensor on the door to his room, punching in the last four numbers of his social in the keypad below it. The sensor blinks red and he pushes out a long, tired breath. He really can’t get anything right today, can he?

The door unlocks on his next try, so he walks in, sending a cautious look towards his roommate’s side, feeling relieved when he finds it vacant. His roommate isn’t a bad guy or anything, he’s just…different. He has different priorities. He’s not crazy. He has friends, and he can talk to girls, and he asks Evan to go downtown with him because he’s a nice guy, and he doesn’t even mind Evan waking up at three in the morning to go to the communal bathroom to take his shower because just thinking about someone accidentally seeing him naked makes him panic. He’s honestly the best roommate Evan could hope for, but Evan just didn’t feel comfortable around him. He was always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for his roommate to realize what a freak Evan is and request a room transfer.

Evan sits in his desk chair, pulling his backpack into his lap and rifles around in the front pocket until he finds the carefully folded paper amongst receipts from the cafeteria and protein bar wrappers. He lays it out on the desk, smoothing out the creases, and reads over the prescription again. Dr. Miller already put in the request with the campus pharmacy, so the paper is really just for Evan’s sake because he’s supposed to research the medication because normal, responsible people research the antidepressant their psychiatrist wants to put them on.

_“Evan, I really think you’d benefit from an antidepressant—nothing serious, just an SSRI. If that doesn’t work out, we can try something else. I just don’t think psychotherapy is going to cut it, buddy.”_

Because psychotherapy cut it before with his social anxiety, right? It’s not like he has a half full bottle of generic Xanax in his desk drawer, waiting to be taken the next time he has an anxiety attack. Now he can add a bottle of generic Prozac, and that’s just great, isn’t it? As if everyone didn’t think he was enough of a basket case already.

Evan jerks his desk drawer open and drops the paper in before slamming it shut. He’s not angry, really, just annoyed. A little irritated. Tired of his best attempts never being good enough. He’s never going to be normal; he’s going to be taking medication and going to therapy for the rest of his life and he’s never going to be well-adjusted and he’s going to be alone forever because who would want to be friends with someone like him, someone who can’t even say a full sentence without stuttering, someone whose every other sentence is an apology, someone whose favorite topic of conversation is _trees_ —who wants to be friends with the kid who talks about _trees_ all the time? And don’t even get him started on having a romantic relationship; that’s _never going to happen_. He’s never going to matter. College isn’t any different than high school, and life after college isn’t going to be any different either, and he’s always going to be invisible, and even if people _saw_ him they’d _hate_ him, so what’s the point of any of this even?

The tears are hot on his face and Evan kind of wants to scream because it’s like—he’s _trying_ and it doesn’t even _matter_. His brain is never going to work right and he’s never going to be able to _function_ like a normal human being, no matter how many letters he writes, no matter how many sessions of therapy he goes to, no matter how many medications he tries. It’s never going to work. That’s it.

He sniffles in the silent room for a bit, scrubbing at his tears with his hands, wishing things were easier. Why’s everything have to be so hard? Why’s everything have to be so scary? Why can’t he just be happy and talk to people and live his life without freaking out?

It takes a while, but Evan calms down enough to get up and change into his pajamas. The pants are green with cute little white pine trees all over them—they were kind of expensive, but his mom bought them for him before he went to college and they make him feel a little better. Even though his mom’s not there much, he still has someone who cares about him. He wishes she didn’t push so much with treatments because it made him feel like a mess she was trying desperately to fix with talking and meds and letters, but she’s _there_ , and that’s enough. It has to be enough.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I feel like, along with social anxiety disorder, Evan probably has persistent depressive disorder, or dysthymia, because he has the low self-esteem and feelings of hopelessness and it seems like he's been depressed for a while, so I think he'd meet the criteria for a depressed mood most days for 2 years and I just feel like it fits his symptoms better than major depressive disorder. Connor, on the other hand, I feel like definitely qualifies for major depressive disorder.


	3. What Kind of College Student Sneaks Out of a Dorm at 3 in the Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second half of chapter two that apparently didn't post. Evan wakes up at an ungodly hour to take his shower and comes back to find a familiar face sneaking out of his dorm room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why this part of the chapter didn't post, but I figured I might as well just make it a separate one. No Connor in this chapter again, but he'll be back in the next one! 
> 
> This is very short, but I just wanted to introduce Zoe, 'cause why not

His pillow starts to vibrate at three.

Evan clumsily reaches under his pillow to turn off his alarm, blinded momentarily when he flips the phone open and the screen is bright in the dark room. His roommate is a lump on his bed and the size of the lump seems to indicate that he did, in fact, bring a girl back last night, so Evan tries to be especially quiet when he climbs down from his bed. He grabs the change of clothes he left on the desk the night before and his shower caddy, slipping his student ID in one of its pockets before slinking to the door of the room.

The hallway is empty, so he quickly makes his way to the communal bathroom, wincing at the sound his flip flops make on the carpeted floor. Evan stopped going to the showers barefoot after he stepped in a puddle of what he hopes was oatmeal, but what he’s pretty sure was vomit the second week of school. He woke up a couple people when he shrieked and stuttered through a halting explanation that resulted in a bunch of guys laughing at him and an RM calling maintenance to come clean up the mysterious chunky, lumpy substance.

The bathroom is empty too, so he shuffles to the shower stall farthest away from the doorway and quickly undresses, dropping his pajamas and his change of clothes in the corner of the stall the water doesn’t reach. Evan turns on the water, standing close to the wall to avoid the freezing water, and steps under the spray when it gets a little warmer.

The shower doesn’t take more than 5 minutes and then he’s toweling off and putting on his clothes for the day, which look pretty much like the clothes he wears every day, because his mom always buys him repeats of the few clothing items he actually thinks he looks halfway decent in. Or, more accurately, the few clothing items his mom has managed to convince him he looks halfway decent in.

Evan brushes his teeth at the sink, keeping his eyes firmly on the porcelain because he doesn’t particularly want to look at himself. If he looks at himself in the mirror, he’ll probably have to admit that waking up at three in the morning to take a shower is poor coping and he should really talk to Dr. Miller about it, but she’d just tell him to go and shower at six like a normal person and see that he’s got nothing to be afraid of, which is not happening. Ever.

He makes his way back to his room, but the door swings inward as he’s about to scan his ID and he stumbles back as a girl emerges. She must be who his roommate brought home, then.

The girl doesn’t seem to notice him standing there, gawking like an idiot, until she shuts the door quietly behind her and makes to walk down the hallway.

“Oh, hey. Evan, right?”

Zoe Murphy—Zoe Murphy from his enviro class, Zoe Murphy who he’s been pining after since she helped him through a panic attack during the organization fair, Zoe Murphy who, according to Jared, he “won’t shut up about, seriously, dude, it’s kind of creepy”—is standing in his dorm hallway smiling at him, and this is really not something he’s prepared to deal with at three in the morning. Or at any time.

“No. I-I mean, yes, I don’t know w-why I said no, I-um-and you’re Zoe.”

Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation that lets him formulate a whole sentence or maybe therapy _is_ working, but Evan manages to squeak out a response that isn’t, you know, the worst response. Okay, it was a really bad response—I mean, why did he say he wasn’t Evan, he’s clearly Evan, like it doesn’t even make sense, but then Zoe’s saying something else so he doesn’t really have time to obsess more over his complete social ineptitude.

“Yeah, so, Evan, would you happen to know a way to get out of your dorm without passing by the front desk? I didn’t exactly check in on my way up.” Zoe leans against the wall as she pulls on her shoes, which she evidently didn’t put on in the room so she wouldn’t wake up Evan’s roommate.

“T-the stairs. Lead straight outside. There’s, um, t-twelve flights, though, so, you probably don’t want to walk down those, sorry.”

She chuckles— _oh my God, did I just make Zoe Murphy laugh_ —and says “Why’re you apologizing? I’m the one who was too lazy to drop my ID at the front desk. I’ll take the elevator to the second floor and take the stairs down from there, anyways. Thanks, dude.”

“Um, n-no problem.” But Zoe’s already moving away to the elevators and he’s left standing there, thinking about how he just spoke to Zoe Murphy—something he’s wanted to do for months, and it just happened. Sure, he stuttered, and his voice was an octave higher than it usually is, but still!

Eventually, Evan goes back into his room, but he just grabs his backpack and a protein bar before heading to the lobby to study. After that exchange, there’s no way he’s going to be able to go back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note, Connor's in Evan's English 102 class because he failed it the prior semester, but he's a sophomore, and Evan and Zoe are freshmen so they share an Intro to Environmental Science class. Just to clarify. If that needed clarifying.


	4. What Kind of College Student Goes to Their 10 AM on Fridays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan nervously awaits Connor's retribution for Evan being...well, Evan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all the comments and kudos! I'm back in school, so updates will probably be kind of spotty, but I will try to post chapters on as regular a basis as I can!

Evan sits on the edge of the wooden bench, perched in such a fashion that the minimal amount of his body is balanced on the scratched wood, preparing to spring up and rush into the classroom once it’s been vacated by the students from the class before him.

Speed walking into the classroom once the last of the students meander away is, admittedly, a bit over-dramatic; nobody has ever fought him for his seat at the end of a row in the middle of the auditorium, mostly because he’s thirty minutes early to all of his classes so no one really has a chance to beat him to his seat, but Evan would undoubtedly have a panic attack if he was stuck in a seat too far back because he wouldn’t be able to hear and wouldn’t want to do anything about it and then he’d miss the whole lesson or in a seat too close to the front because he’d probably make eye contact with the professor and then she might call on him and he’d mumble something wrong and she’d say “speak up, Evan” and he’d mumble it a little louder and she’d get frustrated and it would just be _awful_. And don’t even get him started on the mess that would be sitting where he isn’t right by the staircase—he would start thinking about how he can’t get out without making a scene and then he’d start panicking and then he’d start hyperventilating and then some harried student not in the mood for any interruptions that morning would glare at him and then he’d—well. Well, he’s not exactly sure what he’d do, but Evan can pretty much guarantee it would be entirely socially unacceptable.

“Oh, Evan, hi!”

Evan nearly topples off the bench when he hears his name, so he has to reach out and steady himself against the wall before he can look over at Alana, who’s smiling like she's actually _happy_ tosee Evan.

“H-hey, Alana.” Alana is perfectly nice. Really, Evan can’t think of a bad thing to say about her, but she’s just so…driven. She’s the type of girl he imagines would have a dream board hanging up in their dorm room that details their plans for the next twenty years of their life. He bets Alana’s has a lot of gold stars and glitter.

“How’d you do on your last essay? Your draft was looking really good when you brought it by the peer writing center! I mean, of course you had some grammatical errors and some problems with switching between tenses, but, all in all, it was a solid B minus!”

Evan tries not to think back on the horrendous day he had to go to the peer writing center. His professor requires each student to visit the center at least twice during the semester and he didn’t want to wait until it was closer to finals to go because it would be an absolute _mess_ then, probably overflowing with people and terribly loud. So, he went, and he got to watch Alana cross out whole paragraphs of his essay, rip his thesis statement to shreds, and basically switch his entire topic from the political aspects of _King Lear_ to Shakespeare’s use of the law in his figurative language. Evan’s surprised the paper wasn’t dripping with red ink at the end of the session with the way Alana viciously edited the whole thing. Not that he’s upset about it or anything—what she came up with is definitely a million times better than anything he could come up with. It just felt like another brilliant example of how utterly incompetent he is at everything he does.

“I got an A, um, th-thanks for all the help.” _Thanks for basically writing my paper for me_ goes unsaid, but Evan is pretty positive Alana is smart enough to read between the lines on that one.

“That’s awesome, Evan! I’m really glad for you.” Alana touches his upper arm gently, nodding her head in a way that seems like it should be encouraging, but really comes off as more condescending. But, maybe that’s just Evan’s imagination. Most things are.

The doors to the auditorium slam open and a burly guy wearing his baseball cap backwards stomps out of the room, calling down the hallway to some guy Evan can’t see but who responds to his shout in kind with a “Freddy, duuuuuude.”

“Oh, well, I should get going. I need to ask Professor Seymour about a recommendation letter for this awesome project that’s looking for an intern. They need someone to research women’s health issues and put together educational materials for women who don’t have frequent access to medical professionals. It’s like a perfect resume booster _and_ it’s super fulfilling! Anyways, bye, Evan!” Then Alana’s dropping her hand from his arm and striding into the auditorium, pushing her way through the crowds of students currently flooding into the hallway.

Evan envies her confidence, but Alana is just a little too energetic for him. He always feels tired after talking to her—although that could always just be the massive sleep debt he’s accruing by getting barely five hours of sleep a night.

Once the auditorium is empty except for Alana and Professor Seymour—a stately-looking old man with a pronounced stomach and a receding hairline—Evan makes a beeline for his seat, breathing out a quiet sigh of relief when his butt hits the cool, plastic chair. It’s weird how comforting a rickety chair with an underside covered in gum and other sticky substances can be.

Evan pulls out his notebook, grimacing when he sees the front page is folded up and holding onto the spiral binding by the tiniest slip of paper. The cover of his notebook fell off a week ago because he’s always tugging at it and rubbing it and generally fidgeting with it and a flimsy piece of cardboard isn’t meant to withstand a teenage boy beating up on it all the time, so now the front pages of the notebook are just slowly falling off one-by-one, each one in a worse state than the last.

He flips to a clean page in the back and decides he’ll try to write one of those stupid letters so maybe Dr. Miller will realize that Evan’s…not fine, exactly, but he’s definitely not depressed. Sure, he’s sad sometimes—or a lot of the time, but he’s not _depressed_. He’s just lonely. And tired. And anxious.

 _Dear Evan Hansen,_ he scribbles the words on the paper, frowning at how ridiculous the words look on paper. Normal people don’t write letters to themselves. But, Evan’s not normal, is he? So, he supposes it’s right up his alley, as embarrassing as it is.

_Today’s going to be a good day because_

Evan can hear people walking past him up the stairs and so he keeps his eyes firmly on his paper. He definitely doesn’t need to be caught gaping at someone like a buffoon again.

_Today’s going to be a good day because you’re ahead in most of your classes._

The pen nearly rips through the page as Evan draws a line through the sentence. Yeah, saying that today’s going to be a good day because he’s ahead in his classes because he has nothing else to do but study isn’t going to satisfy Dr. Miller. _“You’re thinking too much about the little things, Evan. You need to focus on the things that are important or special!”_

_Today’s going to be a good day because you spoke to Alana. She complemented your writing, even though she ~~probably~~ obviously didn’t really like it because she crossed most of it out_

Nope. Evan crosses out his second attempt, kind of wishing he could groan in frustration but knowing that making any noise at all could draw people’s attention to him and that’s the exact opposite of what he needs.

_Today’s going to be a good day because you get to pick up your prescription for stupid generic Prozac because your brain is useless and you can’t do anything right. Anxiety was bad enough, but depression is going to make your mom freak out and offer to bring you home and, honestly, you’d probably agree to go home because you can’t do anything right and then you’ll just be mooching off of her for the rest of her life and she’s the only person who’s ever going to care about you, and she only cares about you because she’s your MOM and she has to_

Evan scratches out the paragraph with a little more force than necessary.

So, yeah. Maybe writing a letter before class wasn’t such a good idea because now the professor is stepping up to the podium and starting her lecture and he can’t hear her over his pounding heartbeat. Leave it to Evan to work himself into an anxiety-filled frenzy by trying to write a stupid letter to himself.

Breathe in for seven beats. Hold for fourteen. Breathe out for seven beats.

Breathe in for seven beats. Hold for fourteen. Breathe out for seven beats.

Breathe in for seven beats. Hold for fourteen. Breathe out for seven beats.

His heartbeat slows and his hands stop doing that weird thing where they shake slightly and make it hard to write steady. His breathing begins to return to a more normal fashion instead of the slightly ragged breathing he was doing before. His palms are a little sweaty now, but, overall, he’s fine.

Well, not fine, but. Something less than terrified.

Evan flips to his notes and starts writing down the professor’s comments on _Macbeth_ and the many different ways the scene with the witches has been interpreted by entertainers. She’s pulling up a YouTube video from an old production of the show when the doors to the auditorium open and Connor Murphy stalks in, looking about as calm and happy as usual, which is to say, not at all calm or happy.

 _Shit. Shit shit shit._ Evan’s hopes that Connor might decide today is a good day to skip are promptly dashed and Evan can’t help but stare at the boy, sending up a little prayer that Connor will turn right around and walk back out and maybe never come back because Evan doesn’t _need this_ in his life, he really _doesn’t_ —

“Mr. Murphy, if you would be so kind as to join us,” The professor gestures to the many empty seats— _because everyone else decided to skip today, just not the person_ you _wanted to skip_ —and gives Connor a glower that Evan assumes is meant to be disapproving but seems more exasperated than anything.

Connor rolls his eyes—something Evan can’t really see from his seat, but he’s seen this scene every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday since the start of the semester, so he doesn’t really need the visual to know what’s going on—and starts up the stairs as the professor returns to explaining how interesting and unique this particular interpretation of the scene is.

Evan knows he needs to look away, because staring at Connor has thus far not worked out well for him, but it’s like looking at a car accident—he knows it’s impolite to look, but he has this sick need to see what’s happening for himself.

Connor keeps his gaze down on the stairs until he reaches his seat two rows in front of Evan and Evan—being the utter imbecile that he is—doesn’t look away when he sees Connor raising his head.

You know, if Evan wasn’t completely terrified of him and currently contemplating whether he should even put up a fight if Connor decides to kick his ass, Evan would say that Connor is actually a pretty attractive guy. His face is really symmetrical and Evan once read somewhere that symmetry is the basis of attractiveness because it shows that you have good genes, or something like that. His eyes are a nice shade of blue and his hair looks really soft.

Too bad Connor’s probably going to kill him.

Evan’s tensed up in his chair, hands gripping the arm rests of his seat, preparing for Connor to do…something. Throw something at him or maybe call him out on being a freak in front of the class or jump the two rows separating them and punch him? Any of those options seem pretty plausible from what he knows about Connor Murphy.

Surprisingly—or maybe not surprisingly, Evan doesn’t really know all that much about Connor—all he does is flip him off before making a show of throwing down his bag and plopping in his seat.

Well.

Evan guesses his mom can put off arranging his funeral for a while longer, then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how to write Alana, so I hope this was okay! And, there will be more Connor/Evan interaction in the chapters to come now that Evan has realized that Connor is not, in fact, going to beat him up for staring at him.


	5. What Kind of College Student Has a Panic Attack Over Being Nice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan is faced with a dilemma, and his choice ends up causing a lot of anxiety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this kind of late so I apologize if it's poor quality!

Right now, Evan is faced with a real dilemma.

The auditorium is clearing out five minutes later than usual because the professor went off on a tangent halfway through the class and never really got back on track so she tried to throw the last half of the lesson at the end of class, and it didn’t exactly work out well.

The stairs are almost clear now, but Evan’s stuck with his butt in his chair, wondering what he should do. Two rows in front of him, Connor Murphy has his head down, blissfully unaware that class is over and that he’s free to go and pass out in another classroom or maybe a park bench if the weather outside is nice enough. The professor has already shoved her papers into an expandable folder and vacated the premises, so Evan can’t ask her to wake up Connor for him, and the professor for the next class has yet to show but students are starting to trickle in and Evan’s not sure what he should do.

Well, actually, he’s pretty sure he _should_ wake Connor up, because it’s rude not to, especially since he noticed that Connor fell asleep pretty much five minutes after he arrived. Why Evan felt compelled to spend most of the class staring at Connor is something he can’t exactly explain, but it might have something to do with the fact that this whole ordeal has been entirely anticlimactic and, as little as Evan was looking forward to a possible physical altercation, he was kind of hoping something would happen. Something to make this day different from every other day, something to assure him that his life won’t be a monotonous stream of boring days bleeding into each other for the next sixty or so years, something to just make life interesting.

Instead, Evan got an eyeful of the back of Connor Murphy’s head for forty minutes.

As more students arrive, Evan steels himself and takes a deep breath, standing up and putting on his backpack before closing the two row gap between himself and Connor.

“Um, c-class is kind of over…” Evan says, hovering awkwardly beside his classmate. Connor doesn’t stir and his head remains firmly on his folded arms. Evan can feel his cheeks heating up as an imaginary audience watches him fumbling his way through a good deed.

Evan clears his throat and speaks in a slightly louder voice, “uh, Connor?”

No response. Evan can feel himself starting to cross the line between general nervousness and panic, so he needs to wake up Connor quick and high tail it back to his safe, empty dorm room.

“H-hey, Connor, class is over, so…” Evan accompanies his statement with a finger gently poking Connor’s shoulder. The poking seems to get Connor’s attention, so Evan retracts his hand and continues to stand there, looking like an idiot, while Connor blinks his eyes a few times and generally goes through the process of waking up from a pleasant nap.

“The fuck do you want?” Connor asks in a voice that is decidedly not nice and Evan flinches slightly at the harsh tone.

“Um, sorry, I just—uh, class is over? So, I thought—I, um, thought you’d like to know that. Sorry.”

Connor looks around the room as if to verify the truth of Evan’s statement. As if Evan was going to lie about that, or something.

“Whatever.” Connor jams the desk top back in place between his chair and the one beside it a little viciously, in Evan’s opinion, giving him a weird look when he realizes Evan is still hovering. “Do you need something?” He asks in a voice that makes it abundantly clear that, if Evan indeed wants something, he’s not going to be getting it.

“O-oh, um, no, sorry, I just—I’m just going to, uh, go. Now. Sorry, again. Bye.”

Evan turns around and hurries down the stairs, narrowly avoiding running face first into a short girl too busy talking to her friends to notice him hurtling her way. He mumbles an apology as he passes her by and he can feel the tips of his ears burning when he hears the girl and her friends laugh at his expense.

They’re laughing at him—everyone’s laughing at him—even Connor is probably laughing at him, God, he’s such an _idiot_ , why did he—why can’t he just—what’s _wrong with him_? He can’t even do something nice right—he can’t do anything right ever and it’s just all so _awful_.

Evan makes it to a stall in the bathroom before he starts hyperventilating. His chest is tight and he feels like he can’t breathe—no, scratch that, _he really can’t breathe_. He’s shaking, he knows he is, he can tell by the way the bottle of anxiolytics is trembling as he desperately tries to unscrew the childproof cap. It takes him three tries to pry the top off and he nearly drops his whole supply on the bathroom floor as he tries to shake out a pill into his hand. When he finally manages that, he pops it into his mouth and swallows it dry, focusing on the uncomfortable feeling of it sticking in his throat instead of on his irrational panic. Because it _is_ irrational. Nobody was laughing at him. Nobody was even looking at him.

But it doesn’t have to be rational. It doesn’t have to be some big show—all it takes is one tiny thing going wrong and Evan’s hiding in a bathroom stall, waiting for himself to calm down. He knows that it’s not really that one thing going wrong that does it; it’s the bigger, deeper, more pressing issues below the surface that cause all of this. He also knows that he’s not really trying to fix those underlying issues. He’s not writing his letters, he’s not going out and participating—heck, he hasn’t even hung out with Jared in two weeks. He’s isolating himself, which just makes his problems worse, and his problems getting worse makes him isolate himself, and it’s really just all this horrible cycle that keeps going no matter what he does.

His eyes itch the way they always do when he’s holding back tears. There’s a high possibility of discovery in a public restroom and being caught bawling over having to socialize with other human beings would make everything exponentially worse.

Evan screws the cap back on his pill bottle and slips it back into his bag, standing up from where he’d thrown himself down on the toilet cover and wiping his sweaty palms on the front of his khaki pants.

With a deep breath, he leaves the bathroom and scurries down the hallway, avoiding eye contact and wishing he was back at his dorm room already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will eventually be meaningful interactions between Connor and Evan, I swear! I'm just trying to illustrate the barriers social anxiety can put up when it comes to making new friendships. I may be going a little overkill, but I'm writing off of the experience of friends and what I've learned in my psychology classes.
> 
> Also, feel free to give suggestions about what you'd like to see in this story! I haven't planned very far ahead (or at all really) so I would try to incorporate any ideas you guys have!


	6. What Kind of College Student Can't Find a Partner for a Group Project

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The universe is conspiring against Evan and a Murphy comes to his rescue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just felt like getting this out as soon as possible lmao
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy!

It’s official: the universe hates Evan Hansen.

His pen pokes through his syllabus, creating a small hole beside the bullet point detailing the paper they have to write on some current environmental issue, which, according to what his professor said just now, is a _group assignment_. What kind of professor assigns a paper as a _group assignment_ —writing essays is an entirely individualistic experience, how are you even supposed to _co-write a paper_?

“I don’t feel like grading sixty papers, so I figure you guys can just write in pairs. One person can do the research and one person can write it or you can split the work evenly—honestly, I don’t care how you do it as long as you don’t copy and paste your paper from Wikipedia.” The professor shuffles some papers at the podium, looking utterly exhausted and not at all prepared for today’s lecture. “We’re ahead by a few lectures, so I’m just going to give you guys time to form groups and talk about what you’re going to do for the rest of the class period. Feel free to ask the TA any questions you might have.” The TA—a blond girl who doesn’t even bother reading the homework and just gives everyone full credit for just turning in a piece of paper—doesn’t even look up from where she’s reading a textbook for one of her upper level courses. “Any questions?” A few people raise their hands, but the professor continues on as if he didn’t notice. “No? Cool. Get to work.”

Evan takes a deep breath, keeping his eyes trained on his notebook. This is fine. This will be fine. Evan will do the paper by himself and then come up with some excuse when he turns it in. Or he’ll do it himself and then find some kid who hasn’t done it and let them put their name on it too. There’s no reason to freak out.

There’s the sound of desks moving across the floor as people find partners and the muffled conversation of friends discussing things that have nothing to do with environmental science. Evan keeps his head down so he doesn’t have to watch all of his classmates pair off, leaving him as the only kid with no one to work with. Back in elementary school, his teachers would force someone to work with him and, in high school, his teachers didn’t really care if he worked with a partner or not, so long as he got the work done. He was hoping there wouldn’t be any group work in college—which was a stupid hope, because there’s always group work, there’s always going to be group work. Having a job is just group work you get paid for.

“Hey, Evan.”

Evan’s head whips up to find Zoe Murphy— _Zoe freakin’ Murphy_ —pulling a stray chair over to his desk and sitting down across from him, acting like this was the most natural thing in the world to do.

“Oh, um, h-hi, Zoe.”

“So, you got any ideas for this paper? I feel like everyone’s going to do oil spills and global warming, right? So we should probably not do that.” Zoe leans back in her chair, looking at Evan expectedly, like her talking to him is completely normal. Evan barely restrains himself from looking around the room to find Zoe’s friends, who must be flabbergasted that she chose to work with someone that wouldn’t even really classify as an acquaintance instead of them.

“We could, uh, we could do deforestation? O-or if that’s too obvious we could do, um, nuclear waste disposal?” Evan’s voice sounds high-pitched and uncomfortable and he has the urge to start tugging on the bottom of his shirt because his hands just feel to still, but he settles for turning his pen over in his hands.

“Nuclear waste disposal? That’s, like, a thing?”

“Um, yeah, it’s a, uh, pretty big problem, actually. From what I—from what I’ve heard, you know. ’Cause it doesn’t break down. Ever.” Evan nods jerkily at the end of his statement. Wow, if Zoe didn’t think he was weird before, the way he’s spazzing out today is definitely going to tip her off.

“That sounds good. Nuclear waste disposal it is. Sounds exciting.” Zoe smiles and Evan does that awkward laugh he does when he’s not sure if he’s supposed to laugh or not. Zoe’s smile grows a little wider, which makes Evan think laughing was the appropriate response to the situation. “When’s this thing due anyways? We barely have a month left in the semester.” Zoe drags Evan’s folder across the desk, skimming over the syllabus, and Evan looks off to the side because getting caught staring at Zoe would be about a million times worse than getting caught staring at Connor has been. Evan _likes_ Zoe; Connor is just the broody kid in his English class with the conventionally attractive face and nice hair.

“Uh, t-two weeks, I think? It’s only supposed to be, ah, five pages long, I think.”

“That’s still not that much time. We should get started soon.” Zoe pushes the folder back across the desk, making eye contact with Evan for a moment before he looks at a point right to the left of Zoe’s face. Eye contact always makes him uncomfortable; it’s too…intimate. It’s like the other person can see him—really see him, and he doesn’t like that feeling. “Are you busy tomorrow?”

“T-tomorrow?”

“Yeah, tomorrow. We can both look for some articles tonight and compare notes tomorrow. That good with you?”

“Uh, y-yeah, sure.”

“Awesome. Give me your phone.”

Evan scrambles to unzip his backpack and pull out his phone, trying to ignore the embarrassment he feels at having an off-brand flip phone that was probably the height of technological advances over a decade ago.

Zoe doesn’t make a face or comment on how old or how beat up his phone looks; she flips it open and taps a few buttons before flipping it shut and handing it back. “That’s my number. I’ll text you tomorrow and we can figure out where to meet up.”

“O-okay.”

“Catch you later, Evan.” And with that, Zoe is grabbing her bag and leaving class, walking fast to catch up with her friends. A few other people are dawdling in the classroom, hammering out more details of their projects instead of leaving class forty minutes early, and Evan is just sitting their dumbfounded, wondering what possible reason Zoe Murphy could have for choosing him as her partner.

So, maybe the universe doesn’t hate Evan after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure Zoe's super out of character, but whatever. Next chapter, some of the background/plottish stuff will finally be revealed, yay
> 
> I'm very tired
> 
> also I would've let Evan talk about the trees for his project but I feel like deforestation would be too easy for him, and nothing can be easy for Evan lmao


	7. What Kind of College Student Doesn't Walk a Girl Home?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan and Zoe start working on their project.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you thought I was going to exclude Evan pining after Zoe, you were wrong. The two of them aren't going to be romantic at all in this story, but I'm really into Evan having a crush on Zoe and then just kind of having that crush go away as they become best buds.

Evan flips open his phone for what must be the hundredth time and he opens Zoe’s text from last night, positive that he read it wrong or he’s remembering wrong and he’s in the wrong place at the wrong time like always.

 _Awesome! See you at the library at six_. The text has not magically changed in the last minute, so Evan flips his phone shut and returns his gaze to the dim screen of his computer. Even at the lowest brightness possible, the screen feels too bright and he swears he can feel people looking over his shoulder, eyeing the vast number of tabs he has open, judging him. A girl giggles two tables over and Evan hunches in his seat, desperately trying to make himself as small as possible. He wishes they could meet on one of the lower floors where there’s less people, but those are all quiet floors, and Evan would probably dissolve into a gross, lame puddle of embarrassment if they were too loud and they got chastised by one of the many librarians that skulk around, waiting to catch kids misbehaving.

“Hey, Evan.”

Evan jerks his head up. There’s Zoe, looking as amazing as Zoe always looks, sliding into the seat across the table from him, looking more than a little bummed out. Her eyes are puffy and red-rimmed, making it look like she was crying not too long ago. “H-hi, Zoe. Are you—I mean you look a little—not like in a bad way or anything, but, uh—um, are you okay?” Evan’s voice climbs higher and higher throughout his question and the last word comes out sounding almost like a shriek. _Your social skills are astounding, Evan. Really. Just a dazzling display of stupidity._

Zoe smiles as Evan cringes, and Evan thinks that the embarrassment from sounding like a pterodactyl is one hundred percent worth getting Zoe to smile like that. It’s a kind of indulgent smile that reminds him of his mom when he used to put on shows for her at home complete with costumes made from yarn and construction paper and jazz hands. He could get used to Zoe Murphy smiling at him like that.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just kind of had a thing with my brother earlier, but it’s whatever.” Zoe’s expression falters when she mentions her brother. And, of course, Evan being Evan, immediately asks “Oh, your brother’s Connor, right?”

Evan hasn’t heard anything that would indicate that Zoe and Connor are siblings, but he figures there can’t be _that_ many people with the same last name at their school and the two of them look alike. Not, like, a lot alike, but enough to indicate a shared parentage.

He’s proven right when Zoe nods. “You know my brother?”

“Um—not—well, not really, uh, we have English together?” Evan’s shoulders are raised close to his ears in a shrug that’s supposed to convey “I don’t really know how to say I keep pissing your brother off and that he scares me.” Zoe seems to get the hint, though, as she says “Yeah, sorry about him. He’s an asshole.” She says it with finality and Evan can tell she wants him to drop it, which he is more than happy to do. Evan would much rather spend his time with Zoe talking about things besides his habit of staring at her brother. Like nuclear waste disposal.

The two of them slip easily into their work, turning their computer screens towards each other to show the articles they’ve found and, in Evan’s case, the extremely detailed outline he wrote up that morning at four when it occurred to him that Zoe could be expecting him to have notes on the articles he found and his notes turned into a full-blown outline within a few minutes. He’s not passionate about nuclear waste disposal, really, but he’s always found writing to be easy. On paper, the words just kind of flow out of him; in person, not so much.

“This is really great, Evan. All we really need to do is turn these points into paragraphs and maybe drop in a few more sources, but you did most of the work already,” Zoe sounds pleasantly surprised, like she wasn’t expecting Evan to be so overprepared. “I guess I really picked the right partner, huh? Tabitha and Brittany haven’t even started their research.”

He can feel his cheeks heating up at the compliment, so he looks away, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly in a way that practically screams “praise from other people makes me uncomfortable because it clashes with the negative opinion of myself I have.” Or, maybe it looks incredibly endearing, because Zoe’s smiling at him again like she did when he asked if she was okay and his heart is beating fast and—wow, it is _hot_ in the library today, isn’t it? They must be keeping it at seventy degrees or something. He drops his hands beneath the table to rub his dry hands off on the front of his pants, positive his sweat glands must be kicking into overdrive by now, and he doesn’t want Zoe to see him all sweaty because then she’ll think he’s gross and she’ll never talk to him again and—

“Yo, earth to Evan.” Zoe’s leaning across the table towards him and Evan jerks back, slamming his head against the wall behind him. “Oh, damn, dude, you good? Didn’t mean to scare you. You were kind of zoned out.”

“Uh, n-no, it’s fine, you didn’t—uh, I wasn’t scared.” Evan rubs the back of his head, wincing when he touches the new sore spot from his spaz attack.

“Oh, definitely. Not scared at all.” Zoe nods, a smile creeping at the edges of her lips, and Evan can’t help but smile back dopily, probably looking like an enormous dork but he can’t bring himself to care. If you asked him a few days ago if he thought he would be sitting across the table from a smiling Zoe Murphy, he’d have said that it was a pleasant thought, but that it was never going to happen. Never. But, here he is, and there she is, and Evan feels almost content for the first time in a long time.

Zoe’s phone vibrates, so she picks it up to check her messages, and Evan averts his gaze and pretends to read one of the articles open on his laptop. “Oh, shit. Didn’t realize it had gotten this late.” She mutters and Evan’s eyes drift to the time on his screen, breathing in sharply when he realizes it’s been three and a half hours. _He’s been speaking to Zoe Murphy for three and a half hours. Three and a half_ consecutive _hours._ Evan hasn’t spoken this much in weeks—maybe even in months. He feels proud for all of ten seconds before he realizes that Zoe’s looking at him like she needs to go and he’s slamming his computer shut a little too quickly to seem normal. “Um, I could—I mean, if you want, uh, I could walk you to your dorm? If you don’t, uh, that’s—it’s all good, just, um, thought I’d offer—sorry.” While Evan manages to not sound like a prepubescent girl this time, he still fails miserably at speaking like a normal human being.

“Oh, I don’t live on campus. I share an apartment with my brother.” At Evan’s questioning look—because he’s pretty positive that Zoe Murphy is not exempt from the whole living on campus for the first-year rule simply because she’s Zoe Murphy—she continues “Extenuating circumstances, you know? Just Connor being Connor.” Zoe rolls her eyes, reminding Evan of Connor and his dramatic entrances.

“Anyways, I can walk you to yours, though.”

“Mine? Um, my dorm?” Zoe nods. “Uh, you really don’t—I mean I don’t want to inconvenience you or—you really don’t need to.” Evan rambles, shoving his laptop into his backpack and preparing to run away. Evan’s horrendous at starting and ending conversations; the middle bit isn’t so bad, but the start and the finish are a real mess.

“It’s not inconveniencing me. My car’s in the lot by your dorm, so I’m heading that way anyways.” Zoe slides on her backpack and stands up, waiting as Evan struggles with one of the straps of his bag because it’s tighter than the other and he’s sure he looks like a complete idiot, but Zoe doesn’t seem to notice. She’s tapping out something on her phone, looking tired. What is it about being an adult that just makes everybody tired? It’s like the moment you get to college, you go from being an energetic kid to a constantly exhausted adult. Evan can’t remember the last time he saw someone who looked truly well-rested.

They walk out of the library at a leisurely pace, neither one of them looking forward to walking in the dark, chilly night. Zoe walks a step ahead of him and Evan trails behind, content to let her lead the way. The sidewalk isn’t exactly well-lit—the street lamps are placed too far apart and the eerie glow from the emergency call posts don’t exactly illuminate much. It makes it easier to see the stars, but it also makes it creepier to walk around campus any time after seven.

“You’re an environmental science major, right?”

Evan stops walking, surprised that Zoe said something. He figured this was a “walk silently beside each other and don’t acknowledge each other’s presence” kind of deal.

“Um, yeah. You’re a music major, right?”

Zoe looks over her shoulder at him, giving him a weird look. “It’s just—um, I’ve seen you? Practicing in the music classroom building? I, uh—there’s this magnolia tree by the building and it’s really tall and pretty and I like to sit under it sometimes. So, I saw you through the window once. Practicing.”

His answer isn’t smooth or clear, but Zoe nods her head as though it makes sense. Boy, Evan sure is glad it’s dark outside; his face is probably redder than a tomato right now, and that would make it obvious he’s lying. Evan only goes by the music building so he can watch Zoe practice—the magnolia tree is a bonus. Jared’s the one who told him she’s a music major during one of the times Evan wouldn’t shut up about her.

“You’re really into trees, aren’t you?”

“Well, not like in a _weird_ way, you know—I mean, I think trees are pretty cool, which they are, you know they produce oxygen and can get super tall and stuff. So. Pretty cool.”

“Yeah, no, I agree. It’s cool that trees are tall. And stuff.” Evan can tell Zoe’s being sarcastic, but it’s not like when Jared’s being sarcastic—it’s almost nice. It’s like she’s teasing him.

Evan’s dorm stands before them, a monstrous giant made of glass and steel and cement. Zoe turns around to face him and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything as pretty as Zoe Murphy lit up by a street lamp, smiling up at him like she likes him. And, for a minute, Evan feels like she might really like him. Like maybe Zoe could feel the same way. Like maybe someone could actually like him, despite his many, many flaws.

But the moment passes, like good moments always do. Zoe holds her fist out to him and he nervously bumps his knuckles against hers, trying not to screw it up. Evan hasn’t exactly been on the receiving end of a lot of fist bumps in his life. He hasn’t really been on the giving end much, either. “See you later, dude. We can get together on Sunday or something and work some more on the paper. I’ll text you.”

Then, Zoe’s turning and walking to the lot behind his building, pulling her car keys out of her bag, and Evan is left standing in the glow of the street lamp, feeling like maybe things are finally starting to go right for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor will be in the next chapter, I swear!
> 
> Also, do you guys have any idea what the "extenuating circumstances" might be that allow Zoe to live off campus? (You should make guesses cause I would love to hear them!)


	8. What Kind of College Student Can't Get a Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan goes over to Zoe's apartment to finish their essay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you guys for all the comments and kudos! it seriously helps me power through writing these chapters!
> 
> sorry if this isn't great, it's more filler-y I guess than anything? I just needed to get from point A to point B in the story, ya feel?

Evan braces his arm against the dashboard as the car lurches off the ramp and onto the interstate, the whole vehicle bouncing as they run over one of the many worn down, cracked stretches of pavement. A SUV whips around them as its driver lays on the horn a little more aggressively than Evan thinks is strictly necessary.

“Damn, people really can’t drive around here,” Jared says as he balances his oversized travel mug on his leg, switching lanes with only one hand on the wheel and without bothering to put on his turn signal. Evan tries not to jump when he hears a horrific screeching noise as a car that looks like it belongs in a junkyard slams on breaks behind them, coming a bit too close to plowing into Jared’s car for Evan’s comfort.

Evan doesn’t bother replying to Jared’s comment; telling his friend—his _family_ friend—to pay attention to the road or put both hands on the wheel generally leads to him doing the exact opposite, and Evan would very much like to reach their destination without dying in a fiery car accident. So, he stays silent, tightening his arms around the backpack in his lap like the knockoff Jansport will be able to protect him from Jared’s horrific driving skills. Dying of a heart attack is a very real possibility when hitching a ride with Jared, but Evan figures that’s still better than being stuck on the bus for an hour, squeezed into one of the window seats because he’s terrified that someone will trip over him if he sits on the aisle, trying to take up as little space as physically possible in the hopes that people won’t notice him.

Not that anyone ever notices him.

Jared’s travel mug tilts precariously in his lap when he moves his other hand to the wheel as he speeds up to whip in front of a Honda civic with an elderly couple in it. By Evan’s estimate, they only seem to be going five over the speed limit, and he’s pretty sure Jared hasn’t ever gone below fifteen over since he passed his driving test. The needle on the speedometer is rapidly encroaching the eighty mark when Jared whips into the left lane and his coffee cup somehow stays upright instead of dumping scalding liquid all over his lap. “Which exit am I taking, nerd?”

“The next one.” Evan’s voice sounds high-pitched and panicked to his own ears, but either Jared doesn’t notice or he doesn’t care because he doesn’t comment on it. He removes his hand from the wheel once more to turn the knob on his stereo, turning up the volume high enough that conversation is pretty much impossible, making it clear that he’s still pissed at Evan for waking him up before noon on a Sunday.

Honestly, Evan’s pissed at himself for waking Jared up before noon on a Sunday. He tries to tread lightly around Jared, especially now that they’re in college and Jared’s parents can’t verify that he’s actually spending time with Evan for car insurance payment purposes. Evan doesn’t know what he’d do if he lost his only friend—er, his only _family_ friend.

But there was nothing he could do. Evan was hunched over his desk in his dorm room, making flashcards on Quizlet for his Spanish class, when his cell phone buzzed. He thought it was going to be a text from his mother apologizing for missing their phone call this week, about two days too late for it to matter, and he was prepared to send back something like “it’s fine” even though it’s not fine because he’s not fine. He’s never fine. His own _mother_ forgets about him, so how could he be fine?

To his surprise, the text wasn’t from his mom, it was from Zoe. It said something along the lines of “hey I’m not feeling well do you think you could come over to my apartment for us to finish our project,” and Evan sent back his agreement before the request sunk in because _Zoe Murphy just invited him to her apartment_. Granted, it’s for academic reasons, but still!

He realized once she replied with a smiley face emoji and her address that there was a small wrench in his plans; he needed a way to get to her apartment and, according to Google maps, walking wasn’t exactly an option, unless Evan was feeling up to walking across busy streets and cutting through private property for the next four hours. Jared was his only option.

The car comes to an abrupt stop, interrupting Evan’s rumination. They’ve stopped in the parking lot of an apartment complex surrounded by hulking pine trees, and it’s much nicer than any apartment complex that caters exclusively to students has any right to be. The building stands about three stories tall and it takes up about three city blocks. The exterior is painted a tasteful shade of light yellow and sections of the siding are made of gray stone. Balconies jut out from the front of the building with railings displaying the university’s banner, drying beach towels, and sorority flags.

“Out of my car, Hansen.” Jared says in a tone that isn’t exactly _mean_ , but that couldn’t be considered particularly nice either.

Evan scrambles to open the car door and nearly falls flat on his face as he gets out of the car, not wanting to upset Jared any more than he already has. “Th-thanks, Jared.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Evan slams the passenger door closed, hopping back almost immediately so Jared doesn’t run over his toes as he guns it out of the parking lot.

Jared isn’t a _bad_ family friend. Not exactly. Evan’s known him since they were kids and Jared’s always been kind of…harsh. It got a lot worse in middle school—that’s when he stopped hanging out with Evan at school because Evan was the weird kid no one spoke to. That’s when he started specifying that he and Evan weren’t friends; they were _family_ friends, which is pretty much code for their parents like each other, so they’re stuck with each other whether they like it or not. Evan never felt stuck with Jared, but Jared has made it pretty clear that the feeling isn’t mutual.

Evan sighs. He doesn’t need to get bogged down in negative thoughts right now—this is going to be a _good_ day. He’s going to spend time with Zoe _freaking_ Murphy, so he doesn’t need to think about how Jared sees him as a burden or about how he doesn’t have any friends and, if he keeps bothering Jared, he might not have any family friends either.

He moves onto the sidewalk, feeling a lot less positive than he did when he got Zoe’s text that morning, and he feels irritated—not with Jared or Zoe, but with himself. Why can’t he just be _happy_ for once? Why does he keep dwelling on how Jared pointedly turned up the music so Evan couldn’t speak or how Jared said “out of my car, Hansen” like he couldn’t stand to be in an enclosed space with Evan for even one more second? Why can’t he just focus on Zoe and getting to spend time with Zoe? God, it’s no wonder nobody wants to be around him—he blows everything out of proportion and he doesn’t let things go and he’s just—he’s so _annoying_. Of course Jared wouldn’t want to be his friend, Evan’s the absolute most irritating person on the planet. Zoe’s probably only speaking to him because he’s so _depressing_ —because she feels bad for him because he’s always alone and he never speaks and nobody would even notice if he just disappeared.

But, he doesn’t have time for self-pity right now. He needs to get to Zoe’s apartment so they can finish the report for environmental science and he can stop bothering her and she can stop spending time with him out of pity.

Evan walks to the left end unit, which bears the letter ‘F’ on the front of it, trying to ignore the dead weight in his stomach and the negative thoughts trying to force themselves to the forefront of his mind. He focuses on a pine tree near the end unit and recites facts about pine trees to himself to try to calm down.

_Pine trees have needle-like leaves and they use their cones for reproduction._

_Most pine trees live in the Northern Hemisphere._

_They’re considered to be evergreen—which basically means they keep their needles for two years._

Evan hasn’t seen any around campus; most of the trees he’s taken the time to identify on campus have been magnolia trees or oak trees.

The door to 3F stands before him, looking just as pristine as the door to 3E across the landing, and Evan raises his hand to knock because he doesn’t see a buzzer and he feels like it’s weird to text someone you’re standing outside their door—it seems a little too stalkerish in his opinion, and he feels like the whole lurking in corners while staring longingly at other people thing already covers that base. He hesitates, his knuckles mere centimeters from the wood of the door, because he’s not entirely prepared for the distinct possibility that Connor might open the door. Granted, Connor is probably over the whole gawking at him in the counselling center incident, but he could be upset with Evan for something else—Evan can’t imagine why someone would be mad about another person waking them up at the end of class so they don’t embarrass themselves when they regain consciousness during the next class period and have to stand up in the middle of a packed auditorium and climb over people to get out, but, if anyone could be pissed at someone for doing something nice, it’s Connor Murphy. At least, from what he’s heard.

Deciding that it’ll be worse if Connor opens the door to leave and finds Evan shuffling outside the door like a creep, Evan knocks, wincing at how loud the sound is in the otherwise silence of the landing. He can hear the soft shuffling of socked feet on hardwood and Evan steels himself for whatever Connor will do when he sees Evan as the door swings inward.

It's Zoe, not Connor, in the doorway and Evan feels relieved and something else. Maybe a little disappointed? Although, Evan can’t imagine how he could ever feel disappointed when he’s looking at Zoe Murphy.

She’s still wearing eye makeup from the night before, so there’s a lot of black and gray smudged around her eyes, and her hair is up in a messy bun on top of her head, locks of hair slipping out to frame her face beautifully. She’s wearing rainbow socks and exercise shorts with an oversized sweatshirt advertising a prestigious law school Evan heard his mother talk about once with a wistful note in her voice. “Hi, Evan.” Zoe’s voice is warm and it makes up for the uncomfortable ride over with Jared—seeing Zoe is most definitely worth Jared being more of an asshole than usual.

“H-hey, Zoe.”

Zoe opens the door wider and Evan slips into the entryway, careful to not accidentally touch her because he hates when people brush by him and bump his shoulder or his hand or his hip because he doesn’t really like being touched much in general, let alone by complete strangers. Zoe closes the front door behind him quietly, like she’s trying not to wake somebody up, and Evan can guess pretty easily who that somebody might be.

Zoe leads him into her bedroom, which is to the left of the entryway across from a kitchen that has a full-sized refrigerator _and_ a dish washer. They don’t even have a dish washer in his hall’s kitchen. Not that anyone would use it if they had one—none of the guys on his floor have done anything beyond microwaving a cup of macaroni and cheese, and some of them have even messed that up. He’s not exactly living amongst culinary geniuses.

Her room is surprisingly spacious. A twin bed is shoved against one wall with a big dresser at the foot of it and a bedside table and a desk adjacent to the head of the bed. Her guitar is laid on top of the dresser and her laptop and a stack of textbooks litter the surface of her desk. Her bed is made, but the lumpiness of the duvet makes Evan think she probably left the sheet bunched up at the foot of the bed instead of straightening it out. Zoe picks her computer up off the desk and sits on her bed, scooting back so her back is resting against the wall. She pats the spot on the bed beside her when she notices Evan awkwardly hovering in the center of the room. “Come on, dude. I don’t bite.”

Evan shuffles over to her bed and sits on the edge as he takes off his sneakers, feeling self-conscious about his socks. He didn’t have time to do laundry this weekend, and there was no way he was going to wear sweaty socks to Zoe’s apartment, so he wore a pair of socks his dad claims were just a “gag gift.” They’re bright pink with little cartoon bows on them in a slightly darker shade of pink and more feminine than any other clothing item he owns. He doesn’t _dislike_ them necessarily, but he also doesn’t think they give the impression he wants his socks to give. _Stop being ridiculous, Zoe’s not going to care about your stupid socks._

He scoots back on the bed beside Zoe, sitting cross-legged so his socks aren’t visible, resting his back against the wall and keeping at least a foot of space between them. Zoe raises an eyebrow at how far away he’s sitting, but otherwise doesn’t comment on it.

“So, I figure I can type while you dictate? You seem to know more about nuclear waste disposal than I do,” Zoe suggests. Evan hugs his backpack, which he dragged into his lap instead of setting on the floor like a normal human being, and shrugs his shoulders. He’s gotten better at speaking to Zoe since she asked him to be partners, but dictating a whole essay to her would probably result in a pretty horrendous essay and Zoe getting annoyed with his stammering and long pauses. “Or I could dictate and you type?”

“That would—I mean, I’d be alright with typing if that’s okay.”

“Cool.” Zoe eyes his backpack, so Evan places it on the floor beside the bed. She hands over her laptop and he’s surprised at how light it is. His mom has only ever been able to afford dense, off-brand laptops that always crap out after a year or two, so it’s not like he’s ever had a Macbook before. His high school had Mac desktop computers because of some grant they won, so he’s not completely unfamiliar with the operating system.

Zoe dictates information and various points they need to make to Evan and he types them up, changing a thing or two here and there. They go for a while like that, only taking a break around one in the afternoon to eat some leftover pizza Zoe finds in the fridge, which Evan notices has a whiteboard on the front of it that’s blank except for the word milk written in big, uppercase letters.

Spending time with Zoe is nice—no, scratch that, it’s _awesome_. It feels like Evan has known Zoe for years, not just a few days, and spending time with her feels more comfortable than spending time with Jared. She laughs at the few jokes he makes and she smiles when he makes a good point and, when she notices his socks, she says “those are awesome, man” and Evan thinks she means it. Zoe Murphy is everything he thought she’d be, and Evan can’t believe she decided to spend time with _him_. She could’ve picked anyone in class to be her partner, but she picked him, and she acts like it was completely naturally for someone to pick him as their partner. Zoe isn’t acting like someone who offered to work with the loser no one else wanted to work with—she’s acting like she hit the jackpot, like she got the smartest kid in class. Like she _wanted_ to work with Evan.

Having someone want him around is new, and he can’t say he’s not enjoying it.

They finish around six. The essay is good—it’s cohesive, informative, and interesting. There aren’t any grammar or spelling errors and all of the quotes are properly cited.

“You’re a really good writer, Evan.” Zoe mentions as she scrolls through their essay, skimming it for the last time before they print it out.

“Um, I mean, not really, it was—it was a team effort.”

“No, dude, this was all you. All I did was provide the quotes.”

“Oh, ah, thanks, but you—uh, you shouldn’t sell yourself short. I couldn’t have done it without you.” Zoe smiles at that and Evan smiles back and there they are, just two kids smiling at each other on a bed, when the door to Zoe’s bedroom is shoved open, slamming against the wall and nearly knocking off an art print Zoe hung up by there. Evan jumps and nearly topples off the bed, barely managing to stay upright as Connor waltzes in.

Connor’s eyes settle on Evan. “Why are you in my sister’s room?” His tone is confrontational and Evan has the urge to bolt because, as much as he enjoys hanging out with Zoe, he doesn’t want Connor to beat him up, or even yell at him. If Connor yells at him, he’s probably going to start crying and then Zoe’s never going to speak to him again because she’ll realize what a loser he is and he’s going to lose the one person he thinks could maybe be his friend—his real friend, not his family friend—and—

“He’s my partner for a class project. What do you want, Connor?” Gone is the happy, carefree Zoe who was complimenting his silly socks and his writing abilities. In her place sits an irritated, worn down girl who doesn’t look pleased that her brother’s in her room.

Connor gives Evan a pointed look, which makes it quite obvious that he wants Evan out of here, so Evan starts to grab his backpack and shove on his shoes, mumbling an apology and a promise to talk to Zoe at school on Tuesday. A hand on his shoulder startles him, and Evan jerks his head up from where he’d been staring down at his shoes to find Zoe giving him an apologetic look. “You haven’t texted Jared to come get you yet, have you?”

“Um—I, uh—no, not technically, but I can—he could get here really fast, he drives really fast—and I can just go walk around until he gets here, so.” Evan’s voice is squeaky and he needs to get out of there _now_ or he’s going to make a complete fool of himself because Connor is still looking at him with this weird intensity and Evan can’t handle it.

“You don’t need to do that, Evan. Connor can drive you,” Zoe gives her brother a look that shuts him up before he can protest. Connor frowns, but he doesn’t look as upset as Evan was expecting. “He needs to get more milk anyways.”

Connor rolls his eyes at that and Evan realizes the single-item grocery list on the fridge was for his benefit. He probably should have guessed that—Connor seems to lean more towards active aggression than passive aggression. “Fine. Keys.”

Zoe grabs a keyring off her bedside table and tosses it to Connor. He jangles the keys impatiently. “Come on, Hansen. I don’t have all night.”

Evan slides off Zoe’s bed, giving her an awkward little wave as he follows Connor out of her room, and she looks like she feels guilty for basically throwing Evan to the wolves. Or, wolf. He doesn’t blame her though; he can’t imagine what it’s like to be stuck with Connor 24/7. Evan can barely handle seeing him in class three days a week.

Connor’s halfway down the stairs by the time Evan gets the front door of the apartment shut behind him, so Evan takes the stairs a little too quickly, nearly falling flat on his face at the bottom in his attempt to catch up with him. His face feels hot as he scurries behind Connor through the parking lot; his good mood from earlier is fading fast. Connor stops in front of a white SUV that barely fits in the parking space it’s taking up. He unlocks the doors, rounding the car to get in the driver’s side and Evan opens the passenger side door, awkwardly pulling himself onto the seat while desperately trying not to smack his head on the ceiling. He pulls the door shut as Connor starts the car, the engine immediately coming to life instead of sputtering and choking like Jared’s always does.

“What dorm are you in?”

“Um, you can just—you can just drop me anywhere near campus, it’s fine,” Evan’s voice sounds too loud and he’s staring intensely at the dashboard because he really can’t make eye contact right now because if he looks at Connor he’s going to get even more anxious and he’s probably going to jump out of the car.

“Or you could just tell me what dorm you’re in and I could drive you there.”

“You really don’t—you don’t need to do that, I don’t want you to—to go out of your way—or something like that.”

Connor sounds irritated when he speaks again. “I’m not going to break into your dorm and murder you, Evan. Just tell me what fucking dorm you live in.”

“I didn’t—I didn’t think you would?” Evan finally looks away from the dashboard, brow wrinkling in confusion. “I just don’t want to be an inconvenience—but if it’s not a—if it’s okay, I’m in South Tower.”

“Awesome,” Connor sighs in a voice that makes it sound like he doesn’t really think it’s awesome at all. He backs out of the parking space and pulls out onto the main road, driving much smoother than Jared ever has. A glance at the speedometer lets Evan know he’s going the speed limit, not over, not under. Connor even uses his turn signal when he takes a left to head back towards the interstate.

Riding with Connor is a lot different than riding with Jared.

Both boys remain silent until Connor merges onto the interstate, at which point Connor asks “what class do you have with my sister?”

“Um, environmental science.” The answer comes out sounding kind of pained, like it hurt Evan to answer a simple question, which it kind of did. Connor doesn’t seem like a bad guy—or, well, not _that_ bad of a guy, but Evan’s not very good at talking to new people, and the last time he spoke to Connor he had a breakdown in the men’s bathroom, so he feels even more tense and nervous than usual and he doesn’t want to talk because he’s horrible at small talk and they don’t know each other well enough to have any other kind of talk besides small talk.

The conversation doesn’t continue, though, so Evan supposes he’s lucky Connor seems as antisocial as him. They’re pulling off the interstate when Connor speaks again. “I’m sorry if I was an asshole in class the other day.” He doesn’t sound sorry, but Evan figures an insincere apology is better than nothing when it comes to Connor Murphy.

“It’s—it’s fine, uh, really.”

They lapse into silence once more, but it feels different. Less tense—less uncomfortable. Granted, it’s nothing like being with Zoe or Jared, but it’s not _awful_. Connor hasn’t blown up on him or left him at the side of the road yet, so Evan would consider this experience a success.

Connor pulls up in front of South Tower and Evan immediately unbuckles his seat belt, ready to be back in the safety of his dorm room. He turns to Connor, hand on the door handle, before hopping out. “Thanks for the ride.”

“No problem, Hansen,” Connor’s tone is mean, but it doesn’t seem like he’s genuinely irritated. Honestly, Connor looks more tired than anything.

Evan steps down on the sidewalk, closing the door behind him, and he starts heading over to his dorm, more than a little surprised that he doesn’t hear Connor pull away from the curb until he’s inside.

Huh.

Maybe Evan misjudged Connor Murphy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments/kudos/crit always welcome!!
> 
> also I made a side blog for my musical theater addiction so feel free to come talk to me @jaredkleinmanisanerd!


	9. What Kind of College Student Shares Sweatshirts With His Mom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor Murphy may or may not be stalking Evan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all the comments and kudos, guys! sorry it took so long to get this chapter out--I know where I want to go next, but I wasn't sure how to get there. so this is pretty crappy lol
> 
> comments/kudos/crit always welcome! pls tell me if you find any mistakes thank

So. Connor Murphy may be stalking Evan.

That sounds crazy—which is probably a good thing because it _is_ crazy. Realistically, Evan knows that Connor has better things to do with his time than stalk Evan; there’s definitely a cemetery nearby he could loiter in while reading something dreadfully depressing like _The Bell Jar_. But the evidence has been piling up over the past few days, and Evan’s starting to think that Connor might actually be stalking him. Or Connor might just be spending more time on campus and Evan’s become hypersensitive to his presence since the whole counselling center thing so he’s seeing him everywhere and Evan’s being paranoid about it. Either way, Evan’s been seeing Connor more than usual and it’s starting to make him nervous.

On Monday, Evan spotted Connor while he was walking to the humanities classroom building for his 8 AM. There’s a small coffee shop on the ground floor of the office building that sits adjacent to the humanities classroom building that Evan has gone to maybe once this semester. He vaguely recollects getting an overly moist, stale-tasting muffin before class once.

Connor was leaving the coffee shop with a cup of coffee that was big enough that Evan started thinking he might have found someone whose caffeine addiction could rival Jared’s, reading a book that had a ripped cover and more dog-eared pages than non-dog-eared pages. Evan nearly stopped in his tracks when he saw him; he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Connor around campus before 10:30. But, there he was, walking down the street like it was perfectly normal for him to be there, distracting Evan to the point that the girl who had been on his heels for the past block knocked her shoulder against his when she whipped around him, obviously irritated by his slowed pace.

Then, Connor showed up on time to English class. He walked in barely two minutes after Evan and sat down in his normal seat, still reading the book Evan had seen him with early in the day, now nursing a water bottle instead of a cup of coffee. Evan could see the look of surprise on their professor’s face when she started class and found Connor already seated, notebook open on the tiny desk and paying more attention than usual. Granted, “more attention than usual” just meant that Connor wasn’t sleeping, but still. Evan could see the book resting atop Connor’s notebook and watched Connor flip the pages while their professor quoted Lady Macbeth a little too gleefully.

On Tuesday, Evan saw Connor in the dining hall during the dinner rush. He was sitting at one of the tables tucked away in the corner by the windows, back to the rest of room, and it looked like he was eating something from the sushi place on the first floor. Evan noticed him while he was waiting in line, awkwardly trying to balance his food and student ID in one hand as he unfolded one of the paper bags by the register. Evan recognized the tan messenger bag with the buttons Evan remembers Jared insisting were from Hot Topic on one of Jared’s let’s-complain-about-Connor-Murphy days in the seat beside Connor, warding off anyone who would try to sit beside him. Evan can’t remember why exactly Jared hates Connor; he just knows it has something to do with Connor saying something to him when they were in the same computer science class last semester. Honestly, Connor might’ve just insulted one of Jared’s memes—it doesn’t take much to get Jared to act like a right asshole.

The sunlight pouring in through the dining hall’s floor-to-ceiling windows made Connor’s hair look more golden than brown and, from where Evan was standing, it looked like Connor was smiling a little. It wasn’t a big smile, mind you, just the slight upwards quirk of Connor’s lips and the relaxing of his eyebrows from their usual broody furrow. Still, it was more than Evan had ever really seen on Connor and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like seeing Connor look so—so _content_. It was a nice change from the resting bitch face Evan has come to expect from his classmate.

Evan nearly dropped his food when the cashier asked him if he wanted to use his meal plan; he’d gotten distracted watching Connor and he could feel his face burning as he mumbled “meal plan, please” and offered the woman his student ID before dumping his food haphazardly in his paper bag, nearly spilling his fries everywhere in his desperation to get out of the crowded dining hall as quickly as possible. A few people in the line behind him laughed when he nearly walked off without his student ID, and Evan swears he felt Connor’s eyes on him as he speed walked out the door.

On Wednesday, Evan saw Connor sitting on one of the stone benches alongside the path through one of the university’s gardens. The stone bench was situated under the shade of an immense oak tree and Evan had spent many an afternoon there when his roommate decided to bring a girl back earlier in the day and Evan was exiled from the room until he got an all clear text. That day he was cutting through the garden on his way to his calculus class, deciding to take the long way to avoid the perfume and cologne-drenched masses that populated the campus midday.

He could tell that Connor was reading a different book that day. The other book had a navy blue cover that was missing its bottom half and the corners of the pages were folded over like Connor started dog-earing pages to come back to but found that every page was just as important as the last, so he just folded them all. This new one had an intact, mustard yellow cover and it was much slimmer than the other book. The edges of the pages were frayed and there were colorful tabs poking out instead of folded over page corners.

Connor’s hair was covering his face as Evan passed by so he couldn’t see if he was smiling again, but, if the soft chuckle he heard as he passed by was any indication, Connor was enjoying his book. Connor’s laugh was quiet but genuine, and it sounded like the little laugh Jared would let escape when their families were hanging out together and he was pretending to listen to Evan talk, but was really scrolling through memes on Candid.

Evan liked it—Connor’s laugh, not Jared ignoring him at family gatherings. Connor doesn’t seem like the type of person who laughs very much and, when he does, it’s probably a harsh, mean thing, not the happy little sound that escaped him that day when Evan was passing by.

This morning, on Thursday, Connor waltzed into the counselling center, forgoing the self-check-in again in favor of having the woman at the desk check him in. The woman didn’t seem to appreciate him bothering her this early in the morning and her smile when she drawled “Dr. Ellison will be with you shortly, sweetheart” was clearly fake.

Connor dropped into the chair directly across from Evan, shoving his student ID into the outer pocket of his bag before retrieving a book from the larger compartment. It was a different one than Monday and Tuesday’s or Wednesday’s—this one was way bulkier and the cover was a bright blue with a red splotch on the lower left hand corner that Evan couldn’t identify from his seat.

Evan’s gaze moved from the book in Connor’s hands to his face, surprised to find Connor looking back at him, not looking particularly angry or annoyed or irritated. He looked calm, almost. As calm as Connor ever looked. “Hansen,” Connor said in what Evan guessed passed for a cordial greeting from him.

“H-hey, Connor.” Evan looked away, off at something over Connor’s shoulder because eye contact with Zoe made him nervous but eye contact with Connor was just—just too much for him. Evan fiddled with a string hanging from the sleeve of his sweatshirt as he waited to see whether Connor was going to finally stop looking at him and read his book or if he was going to stare at Evan until Dr. Miller came to get him for his appointment. He was hoping it would be the former, but who knows with Connor Murphy. Evan definitely doesn’t know him well enough to predict what he’s going to do—the past few days have been a prime example of that. Evan wouldn’t have pegged Connor as the type of guy to sit under oak trees on sunny days, reading a book and laughing to himself, but that’s exactly what he was doing yesterday.

“Nice sweatshirt,” Connor said, bringing Evan’s surprised gaze back to him. His tone suggested that he didn’t actually think it was a nice sweatshirt, so Evan glanced down, grimacing when he realized he was wearing one of his mom’s old sweatshirts. He’d thrown it on when he checked the temperature on his laptop right before he left and he hadn’t realized it was the one she’d ordered and given to him because it was a few sizes too big for her. It said “Eat, Sleep, Pet Cats, Repeat” and Evan could feel his face turning bright red as he wished for a chasm to open up below him and swallow him whole because—because _God_ he couldn’t even put on a _freaking sweatshirt_ without embarrassing himself. Out of all the things—out of all the things in his closet, he picked the worst thing without even _trying_. It’s got to be a fucking talent to naturally be such a loser.

“Um, it’s not—it’s not mine, I just, ah—it was the first thing I grabbed—it’s my, um,” _Don’t say it’s your mom’s, don’t say it’s your mom’s,_ do not _say it’s your mom’s_. “It’s my mom’s.” _Fuck._

“Your mom’s?”

“Uh, yeah, she, uh, she gave it to me. Because it’s too—it’s too, uh, big for her, you know.”

“Cool.” Connor’s voice made it very clear that it was _not_ cool and he looked like he was struggling not to laugh in Evan’s face. Evan appreciated his restraint. If Jared was here, he would have already made ten jokes at Evan’s expense and probably laughed so hard he cried by now.  “Do you—do you always share clothes with your mom?” Connor’s mouth was twisted in this weird half smile, half frown thing that made Evan feel like he was the butt of some joke. Which he was.

“No—and I wouldn’t say we’re sharing this, um, she—she gave it to me, so it’s not like she wears it really. So I—I guess technically it’s uh.” Evan swallowed audibly, gaze trained on a speck on the wall behind Connor. “Mine.”

Connor was opening his mouth to reply—probably planning on saying something that would make Evan want to run back to his dorm, climb onto his bed, and never leave again—when Dr. Miller appeared and beckoned Evan back to her office. He mumbled a quick goodbye before scurrying to her office, avoiding Connor’s eyes.

“…van? Evan, buddy, you there?”

Dr. Miller’s hand on his knee makes him jump and Evan’s pulled from his contemplation about Connor. He zoned out while Dr. Miller was lecturing him on how he needed to get out more and _participate_ after grilling him on who that “interesting boy in the waiting room” was. She got all excited when he mentioned they had a class together and they’d seen each other outside of class before. “Um, yeah, I’m here. Sorry.”

Dr. Miller offers him a tight smile, leaning back in her chair, looking none too pleased to have to repeat what she was saying. “I was saying that I think it would be a good idea for you to attend a group session alongside our individual sessions.”

Evan tenses up at the mention of group sessions. The whole one-on-one bit is embarrassing enough—there’s no way he could survive having to—having to talk about his _problems_ in front of people his age—and, and what if they—what if they make fun of him, what if they—what if they _tell people_ —what if everyone finds out what a freak he is and then the whole campus will be making fun of him and then Jared won’t speak to him and Zoe will hate him and his roommate will request a room transfer—and—and everyone will _know_ , they’ll know he’s a mess, and he can’t—he can’t _deal_ with that—

“Evan, bud, I’m going to need you to breathe, okay? C’mon, in, out, like we practiced.”

Seven beats in. Hold for fourteen. Seven beats out.

Seven beats in. Hold for fourteen. Seven beats out.

Seven beats in. Hold for fourteen. Seven beats out.

Seven beats in. Hold for fourteen. Seven beats out.

Seven beats in. Hold for fourteen. Seven beats out.

“Okay, good.” Dr. Miller sinks back into her seat with a sigh when Evan gets his breathing under control. “I know you don’t want to do this, Evan. I get it; I _do_. But you’re stagnant. You’re not making any progress and you refuse to write your letters. Something has to change, and I think group would be a good thing for you.” She says it with finality and Evan knows he’s royally fucked—she’s made her decision. She’s not going to change her mind.

He should’ve written those stupid letters.

“There’s a session tonight at six. Now, I can’t force you to go, but I strongly encourage you to.” _I can’t physically make you go to group, but I’ll make my disappointment abundantly clear if you don’t go and we both know you’ll do anything to avoid me being disappointed in you._ “Now, our time is about up. Are you alright with coming in the same time next week?”

Evan nods weakly, muttering his goodbye before leaving the office.

Well.

Fuck.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you guys enjoyed! Connor is probably ooc with the sweatshirt thing but I feel like anyone would react that way to that sweatshirt lmao and I 100% believe Heidi is a cat person
> 
> also I feel like Evan is judgy as hell in his own head despite being usually nice out loud
> 
> feel free to hit me up on tumblr at @jaredkleinmanisanerd!


	10. What Kind of College Student Can't Order Coffee?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan goes to group therapy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm avoiding my adult responsibilities, so enjoy this chapter I wrote during calc class!
> 
> thanks for all the positive comments and messages! I'm really glad people are enjoying this so far! there's still a lot to come, but we're almost at the part where Big Things happen!
> 
> comments/kudos/crit always welcome!

Evan shifts uncomfortably in his seat. The group circle’s chairs are reminiscent of the burnt orange classroom chairs of his childhood with a back that’s too short to provide any real support, a random cut out in the aforementioned back that doesn’t seem to have any real purpose besides making the chair even less aesthetically pleasing than it already is, and a hard plastic seat that feels uncomfortable no matter how many times you cross and uncross your legs.

His jacket rustles softly—it’s one of those nylon rain coats that make a soft scratching sound when you do anything, and Evan hates it because the noise always sounds deafening to his ears and he can tell that’s not all in his head because the girl to his right glances over, eyes settling on the sweaty, red-faced mess that he currently is. Her gaze is like a physical thing—a heavy weight gliding over his torso, his arms, his face, leaving a gross feeling behind on Evan’s skin.

 _That_ is the worst part of group. It’s not the weirdly intense eye contact the intern stuck running this session makes with each of them at the start of the meeting; it’s not the stammering introduction he stumbled through at said intern’s request; it’s not the way his heart is beating too fast and too loud so he can’t hear and he just nods when everyone else nods because he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to _do_ and nobody has taken it upon themselves to explain proper group therapy etiquette to him, so he’s just guessing at what an appropriate response would be to someone detailing how they nearly puked during an exam earlier that week or how they finally spoke to that boy they like and it went better than they expected. It’s not the soft little gasps that keep escaping him because he can’t get his breathing under control and it feels like there’s a weight on his chest, preventing his lungs from expanding, so there’s not enough air for him to breathe like a normal human being who isn’t living out a scene from one of their worst nightmares. It’s not the feeling of the sharp edges of the plastic chair’s seat biting into his palms where he’s grasping it for dear life—no, no none of that is the worst part of group.

It’s the _looking_. The casual, curious glances in his direction, the encouraging gaze of the intern on him when he was speaking, the prolonged eye contact as someone else talks about their struggles and decides that he looks like a fine person to stare at while they’re talking about how hard their life is—it’s fucking awful. There’s nowhere for Evan to go, no trees or people for him to hide behind, no way to fade into the background when he’s in the group circle. It’s as if there’s a spotlight shining right on him and it’s blinding and he can’t see anybody else but he can feel their eyes on him. He can feel them watching him, indifferent to his suffering, and he can’t—he can’t _take_ it, but he knows there’s nothing he can do but wait for the session to be over and figure out how to tell Dr. Miller politely that there’s no way in hell he’s coming back next week.

He hates her for this. Evan doesn’t like using the word “hate”—he thinks it’s overused and that the most he’s ever really felt for another person is an strong dislike, not hatred. But, in that moment, Evan hates Dr. Miller for sending him to this place and he hates Jeff the intern for smiling and saying “speak up, Evan” when Evan introduced himself even though Evan was speaking perfectly loud, thank you very much, maybe Jeff should get his hearing checked—and he hates Connor for talking to him in the waiting room and making Dr. Miller think that Evan could handle this because he _can’t_. He can’t handle this.

And, what’s the point of this? How does listening to other kids complain about how they couldn’t speak up when the barista at Starbucks gave them a mocha frappucino instead of a vanilla bean frappucino help Evan? He can’t even _order_ anything at Starbucks, let alone ask them to swap out what they gave him for what he really ordered.

What, is he—is he supposed to have some epiphany? Realize that he’s not the only one who feels this way and then be miraculously cured, suddenly able to speak to other people with not a trace of panic? Because, news flash, Evan _knows_ other people have anxiety disorders. He _knows_ other people feel the same as he does, but that knowledge doesn’t make it better. Knowing that other people are messed up too doesn’t make him any less messed up. It’s _pointless_.

And, what was that bullshit Jeff was spouting earlier—“we’re so glad to have you here, Evan” or something like that. Yeah, right. Good one, Jeff. Nobody’s ever happy to see Evan—not even his mom. She always looks exhausted when she sees him, like just having to be in the same room as her son saps up all her energy. And don’t even get him started on his dad; there’s a reason he hasn’t seen him since his freshman year of high school. It’s _bullshit_ , nobody wants to see Evan—and why, why would they? Huh? He doesn’t write his letters and he doesn’t challenge his negative thinking and he doesn’t talk to anybody even though his mom and Dr. Miller keep telling him he needs to put himself out there, but he doesn’t—he doesn’t _need_ to putt himself out there because he knows—he _knows_ that—that, if anybody bothered to get to know him, if anybody ever bothered to look past the stuttering and stammering and excessive sweating and awkward shuffling, they’d _hate_ what they saw and they’d hate him because—because _he_ hates himself and if he can’t even—if he can’t even like himself, how could anybody else?

Evan is pulled out of his head when Jeff claps his hands loudly, flashing a bright smile at everyone and saying something like “good session, guys, see you next week!” People immediately start slipping on their coats, chatting with each other as they gather up their bags and prepare to leave. Evan’s breath rushes out of him in a long, relieved sigh, and he can’t even bring himself to care that the boy two seats away from him gives him a weird look for it.

Finally.

It’s over.

His hands sting as he releases his death grip on his chair and his legs feel like jelly when he stands up, making him wobble a little bit before he regains his balance. He feels a rush of shame when he looks at his palms and sees the red marks where the hard plastic of the chair was digging into his skin for an hour—it’s a physical reminder of just how much of a mess he is. Evan can’t even get through an hour of group therapy without fucking something up.

“Evan! I didn’t realize you were in group!”

Evan loses his grip on his backpack and it falls to the floor, landing with a loud thump. A few pens and highlighters spill out of the front pocket he’d been rooting around in to find his phone.

“Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

Evan picks up his bag and turns around, more than a little surprised to find Alana Beck bent over collecting the pens that escaped before straightening up and offering them to him with an apologetic smile. “Um, you didn’t—uh, I mean, it’s fine. Thanks.” Evan accepts the pens and shoves them back into the front pocket, zipping it up before they can fall out again.

“You’re welcome,” Alana smiles brightly at him and Evan looks away, not keen on making eye contact right now. The group session took a lot out of him. The silence between them stretches on a bit too long to not be awkward before Alana lets out a little gasp like she just remembered something important. “Oh! Hey, do you maybe want to get some coffee? They’re keeping that place in the bottom of the humanities office building open late for exams.”

Evan opens his mouth to say no because he doesn’t have the energy to get back to his dorm, let alone get coffee with Alana, but then he catches a glimpse of this hopeful look on her face and it gives him pause. He recognizes that look—he’s seen it on his own face, looking in the mirror before the first day of school when he was younger, resolved to make this year the one where he has friends.

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” Evan gives her a half-hearted smile when he sees her face light up like he made her day.

“Great! I mean, uh, cool.”

Alana does all of the talking as they head to the coffee shop, content to fill the silence while Evan nods and makes little listening noises periodically to show he’s not zoned out. And he’s not—he’s listening to Alana’s anecdotes from volunteering at the children’s museum and being a mentor to a sweet girl who goes to a nearby middle school. To be honest, Evan’s a little surprised at how excited and happy Alana sounds when she’s talking about her volunteering. He’d always been under the impression that she was doing it to bulk up her resume, but it sounds like she actually enjoys her work.

Evan’s starting to thing he may be a really poor judge of character.

Alana speaks the entire way to the register, only pausing in her explanation of the monopoly strategy she taught the girl she’s mentoring to tell the cashier she’d like a “venti iced caffe americano, please” and to swipe her debit card. Evan half-listens to her as he asks for a small hot chocolate, getting more than a little flustered when the cashier tells him they don’t have smalls, but Alana steps in for him, saying “he meant tall” before returning to her story. It’s—it’s really nice. Having someone talk to him and keep him from embarrassing himself in front of the entire Starbucks because he never goes to Starbucks and therefore does not know how to speak their weird coffee language.

Alana doesn’t take a breath until they go to a table near the window with their drinks. “Anyways, that’s enough about me. What’s going on with you, Evan?”

 _Nothing, like always._ “Um, not much, I’ve been working a lot on a project for my environmental class.”

“Ooh, what’s it on?” Alana looks—she actually looks _interested_ in what Evan’s saying, making eye contact with him as she sips her coffee, giving him her full attention. It’s weird having Alana Beck’s single-minded focus directed towards him, but it’s kind of nice.

“Nuclear—nuclear waste disposal. I’m working on it with a girl in my class.”

“What’s her name? I might know her—I know a lot of people. Especially freshman, I was an orientation leader, you know.”

Evan does know. He had Alana as his orientation leader and she quizzed him on why he was majoring in environmental science and why he picked this university and why he liked trees so much for the whole two days. She even gave him her e-mail, telling him to send her a message if he had any more questions about the school. Obviously, he didn’t do that, but it was a nice offer.

“Well, her name—she’s—um, Zoe? Murphy?”

“Oh, yeah, I know Zoe! We went to high school together! I mean, she wasn’t in my grade—I think her brother was, though.”

“You know Connor?” It probably shouldn’t surprise Evan that she knew Connor; obviously other people are going to know Connor. He’s not like Evan—he’s much harder to ignore.

“Yeah, we had English together, I think. Maybe chemistry too. He didn’t talk much. Probably because everyone was still giving him a hard time over the whole Ms. G thing.” At Evan’s questioning look, Alana continues, “Connor got upset because I was line leader one day and he was insisting he was line leader, but Ms. G told him to go to the end of the line because it wasn’t his turn and he kind of threw a printer at her.”

“Kind of threw a printer at her?” Evan echoes, less surprised than he probably should be.

“Yeah, it was a whole thing. No one ever really let him live it down. I don’t think he really deserved all that teasing, you know? I mean, sure, he has a temper, but some of the stuff the boys would say about him…” Alana trails off, shaking her head slightly, and she has a sad look in her eyes like she really does feel bad for Connor. “I was hoping he’d have an easier time of things in college—he deserves a break after senior year. _That_ was a real mess. But then he almost got expelled for punching some kid in his computer science class. Honestly, I think the only reason they didn’t kick him out is because Mr. Murphy is this huge alumni donor and they don’t want to lose that money.”

Alana goes off on a tangent about how unfair it is that the school goes easier on the more affluent students, but Evan is stuck on what she said about Connor. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out the kid in his computer science class was Jared and Evan can understand wanting to punch Jared—he’s wanted to do that a couple times over the course of their friendship. But Evan can’t imagine why Connor would actually punch him. He’s seen Connor snap back at boys being assholes to him, but he’s never seen Connor get violent with someone beyond passive aggressively knocking his shoulder against someone else’s. And Jared is an asshole, but that’s all he is: an asshole. So what could Jared have done that was so bad Connor nearly got himself kicked out of school for punching him?

“We should do this again some time.” Alana says and Evan gives her a weak smile, feeling more than a little guilty that he started tuning her out. He’s really dedicating too much time to thinking about Connor Murphy, isn’t he?

“Yeah, that would—that would be great, Alana.”

As Evan walks back to his dorm, he feels good, almost. Like things are finally looking up for him. Zoe’s still talking to him even though they’re done with their project, Connor has yet to kick his ass and doesn’t seem to have any plans to do so in the near future, and Evan might be able to consider Alana a friend—or at least a potential friend.

Maybe his mom was right.

Maybe things do get better in college.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed! idk how to write Alana sorry
> 
> feel free to talk to me at @jaredkleinmanisanerd! I would be willing to give you clues on what happens next! (cryptic ones though because telling you out right wouldn't be fun lmao)


	11. What Kind of College Student Can't Take a Joke?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan's having a bad day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooooooooooooooooo, this is probably garbage, but I wanted to get a chapter out today, so here we are
> 
> Also y'all should check out this amazing art work by [@puncertainty](http://puncertainty.tumblr.com/post/159572938890/im-sure-someone-has-probably-drawn-this-already) and [@secretlyconnormurphy](https://secretlyconnormurphy.tumblr.com/post/159465778840/just-finished-this-sketch-based-on-the-deh-fanfic) of Evan in his mom's sweatshirt! Their art is insanely awesome!!!!
> 
> WARNING: Evan talks a lot about being depressed and suicidal in this chapter, so please don't read if those topics make you feel uncomfortable.
> 
> comments/kudos/crit are always welcome!

The secret for getting a seat in the library on reading day is rolling out of bed outrageously early, throwing on a pair of sweats and a heavy sweatshirt, and hightailing it across campus, not even stopping to grab breakfast from the dining hall. The most desirable seats will already be filled with people who’ve been there since early Sunday afternoon who just never went home, but the seats at the long tables will be free for about an hour between six and seven in the morning before the study groups and kids who can’t study in their dorm rooms start flooding in with their school books and their coffees.

Evan scores a seat near one of the windows where the table is drenched in natural light. Or, well, it will be. Once the sun comes up.

He sinks into the chair, which is a mess of chipped wood and cracking leather, and drops his backpack at his feet, letting out a soft sigh as he takes in the mostly empty library. The building has been packed over the past week as even the least academically inclined students began to fret over their final grades and Evan’s been relegated to the quiet floors for the past few days, struggling to tune out the kids who don’t seem to understand what the word quiet means.

The whole being surrounded by a bunch of people thing makes him want to go back to his dorm room, but all that’s waiting for him there is his roommate studying with his friends for his business school classes, and Evan finds it hard to concentrate on the carbon cycle when one of his roommate’s friends starts squawking “TINSTAAFL, TINSTAAFL” whenever they start reviewing economics. So, library full of the rest of the anxiety-ridden student body it is.

Evan pulls out his ragged Spanish textbook and his battered notebook, deciding that it would be best to start with one of his easier subjects. He’ll reserve studying for calculus for when he’s awake enough to start spiraling into his usual cycle of self-hatred that he falls into during exam time. Honestly, Evan spends about as much time berating himself for not paying enough attention or not spending enough time studying or not being smart enough as he does _actually_ studying. Imagine what he could accomplish if he dedicated all of his time to being productive. He’d probably have a 4.0 GPA instead of a 3.5.

People begin flooding in after seven and Evan keeps his eyes firmly on the page explaining the differences between ser and estar because if he looks around and takes in the vast amounts of people surrounding him, blocking his exits, keeping him stuck in his seat with no escape, he’s going to start panicking and he’s going to embarrass himself in front of at least half of the school and then he’ll have to drop out and go to the community college back home and his mom will say she’s not disappointed but she’ll actually be super disappointed and then he’ll get depressed and he’ll just—

He’ll just.

He’ll just be fine.

That’s it. He’ll be fine.

Evan goes from feeling mildly anxious but overall fine to feeling like complete shit in about three seconds flat. He’s not—he’s not _proud_ of what he did in high school, okay? Evan gets that what he did was wrong; it was a mistake, a mistake he doesn’t plan on repeating. At least, not yet. No, no—not _ever._  He needs to—he needs to stop thinking about _that._ It’s not healthy, and his mom would freak if he mentioned it and Dr. Miller would institutionalize him if he ever—if he ever said it out loud. If he ever admitted to thinking about it, if he ever told her what happened senior year.

It’s like—it’s like there’s this line, right? This imaginary line between what’s normal—or, at least, vaguely normal—and what’s supremely fucked up, and you don’t want to cross that line because there’s nothing good for anyone on the supremely fucked up side. And you can toe the line, kind of. Think about _that_ , but in vague, abstract terms rooted in some alternate reality—like a “what if” scenario. That’s not so bad. People think of weird stuff all the time on the normal side of the line. Plus, fatalistic humor is a huge thing nowadays, so even thinking “I crave the void” or “just kill me now” isn’t that bad, as long as you don’t _mean_ it. And Evan doesn’t mean it—he _doesn’t_. He just thinks sometimes about how things would be different if he…

If he wasn’t around.

His mom would be happier, that’s for sure; no more worrying about her crazy kid doing dumb stuff off at college, no more paying his tuition, no more footing the bill for therapy and pills and stressing out over how little their insurance covers. Sure, she’d be sad for a while, but, in the long run, she’d be better off, wouldn’t she?

Then, there’s Jared. Jared probably wouldn’t notice—hell, let’s be honest, Jared would probably be glad to be rid of his clingy family friend who’s always asking him for favors. No, no, that’s—that’s mean. Jared’s not a bad guy. He’d care.

Maybe.

Who else is there even? Who else would even notice if he just—if he disappeared? His roommate, who Evan barely speaks to and who only tolerates him because he’s a nice guy? Zoe? Alana? Connor? He barely knows any of them. They might think of him once or twice in passing—a curious “oh, I wonder what happened to that really awkward kid, what was his name—Ev-something, Even maybe” floating through their mind and they might look him up on Google, or they might not. They might not even do that.

God, Evan’s so—Evan’s so _pathetic_. Here he is, about ready to have a mental break down in the middle of a crowded library on reading day, because he wants to—

Because he wants to—

Because he’s just really tired. Of everything, all the time. He’s tired of being scared of everything and everyone and he’s tired of acting like an idiot all the time and he’s tired of Jared avoiding him and he’s tired of liking Zoe even though he knows, deep down, that that’s never going to happen and he’s tired of seeing Connor and thinking that maybe—maybe he’s looking at someone that’s like him, someone that could understand. Because Connor Murphy most definitely can’t understand what it’s like to feel like this. His parents are rich, his sister is nice, and he’s attractive—he’s got everything going for him except some behavioral problems, but in the grand scheme of things being an asshole in college is nothing. Connor’s going to graduate and get a good job and marry some unfairly beautiful girl and have a bunch of adorable kids, and Evan’s an idiot for thinking any different. Connor would _never_ be friends with a loser like him and he definitely wouldn’t—there’s _no way_ he’d like Evan as anything more than that and he’d probably beat the crap out of Evan for even _thinking_ about that kind of thing and Evan’s just so—he’s just so fucking _stupid_ and he needs to stop whatever it is he thinks he’s doing by staring at Connor and thinking about Connor and talking to Connor.

Evan tries to calm down, tries to feel all those happy feelings from the other day when Connor spoke to him and Alana got coffee with him, but he just—he just _can’t_ , and he hates himself for it. Every time things are looking up, Evan’s stupid, useless brain has to ruin everything. He’s incapable of being happy. Really, it’s like—God, it’s like he’s always trying to tread water but he’s shitty at it, so his head keeps slipping below the surface and his lungs keep filling with water, but he always manages to emerge from the water at the last second and gulp in big gasps of air and he thinks he’ll be okay, he thinks that this time he can kick his legs harder and move his arms faster and he’ll be able to stay afloat, but then his limbs start feeling heavy once more and he gets tired—he gets so, so tired—and then he’s drowning again. No matter what Evan does, he can’t keep his head above water, and he knows that, eventually, he won’t be able to come back up for air. Every time he falls beneath the surface he wonders if this is it, if this is the last time, if he’s finally a goner. And, sometimes he thinks maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe drowning would be better than this constant exhaustion.

But then Evan gets scared, and he manages to get his head above the water once more.

“This seat taken?”

Evan nearly snaps his pencil in half when the question breaks him out of his thoughts and he knocks his Spanish textbook off the table, papers he’s stuffed between the pages slipping out and fluttering to the ground.

“Oh, fuck, sorry.” A boy in plaid pajama pants and an oversized Harvard Law sweatshirt bends over, collecting the many papers covered in Evan’s signature chicken scratch and stuffing them haphazardly back into the textbook before depositing the book on the table in front of Evan.

It’s not until the boy looks at him that Evan realizes it’s Connor Murphy.

He looks different in normal clothes with his hair piled on top of his head in a messy bun. He looks like a normal, incredibly attractive teenage boy instead of the dictionary’s definition of anger issues. Connor clears his throat kind of loud, averting his gaze, and Evan realizes he’s been gawking at him for way longer than is socially acceptable. _Fuck_.

“Uh, n-no, the seat’s, um—nobody’s sitting there. Thanks for the—thanks. Sorry.” Evan knows he should be freaking out because, here he is, acting like a complete imbecile in front of Connor, who he might like and who most definitely doesn’t like him, but he can’t really bring himself to care. He’s too—he’s tired is all.

Evan’s really, really tired.

Connor doesn’t say anything as he plops into the seat across from Evan, dropping his bag on the table top loudly, earning himself a few dirty glares from other students, but he doesn’t even acknowledge them. Evan likes that about Connor—the whole not giving a fuck thing works well on him. Very 80s movie bad boy chic. Evan wishes he could not give a fuck about what other people think of him. That would solve a lot of his problems.

“No mom sweatshirt today?” Connor asks, and he sounds kind of awkward, like he’s not used to starting conversations but he’s trying his best to seem like he’s a normal human being. Evan figures Connor probably doesn’t start many conversations; the only people Evan’s ever seen him talk to are their English professor, the receptionist at the counselling center, and Zoe. He hasn’t seen him hanging out with friends or—or girlfriends.

“Um, not—not today, no,” Evan huffs out an uncomfortable laugh, shuffling the papers that fell out of his textbook. He really should have been more careful about putting the dates on his assignments. “I don’t really—I don’t wear that one a lot, it was just, uh, the first I found that day. Not that I don’t like it, or—or whatever, it’s just not my, um, my favorite.” _Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck_.

Connor makes a noise of acknowledgement—it sounds kind of like a quiet “hmm”—and takes a sip from the reusable coffee cup that Evan hasn’t seen leave his side in the past week. Connor’s got to be more coffee than blood at this point. “You take Spanish?”

“Y-yeah. Took it in high school so I figured I should just. Stick with what I’m good at, you know. What—what do you take?”

“German.”

“Oh, that—that’s…cool.”

“Yeah.”

The conversation lapses into silence and Connor pulls out what Evan assumes is his German textbook because the words on the front don’t seem to be in English, but, then again, Evan could just be an idiot. Maybe he’s been illiterate his whole life and he hasn’t even realized and everyone’s just been humoring him this whole time.

Or maybe it’s just Connor’s fucking German textbook.

Evan can feel Connor looking at him as the day wears on and it makes him feel weird. Connor Murphy has no reason to be looking at him. At all. Ever. Maybe he just thinks Evan is a complete loser and he’s waiting to see him fuck up because he thinks that would be funny. Maybe Evan’s face is just so horrifically ugly that Connor wants to look at it and wonder how someone can be so incredibly ugly. Maybe there’s something on Evan’s face and Connor is trying to point it out with his eyes but he can’t because Evan’s gaze is glued to his textbook. Because Evan has too much going on in his head right now to be staring at Connor Murphy and waiting for the moment when Connor realizes that Evan—well. Evan needs to just not think about that. Or _that_. Or anything that has something to do with stuff besides his Spanish class.

Finally, when people are making runs to the vending machines and to the dining hall for lunch, Evan takes a deep breath and looks up at Connor, who’s currently looking at him _again_ and who doesn’t look away when Evan looks at him even though that’s literally what you’re supposed to do when someone catches you looking at them. “Could you—could you maybe stop looking at me? Please? I don’t, um, I don’t—it’s distracting.”

Connor raises an eyebrow at him and Evan can tell he’s about to say something that’s going to make his anxiety skyrocket, but instead of exiting the situation like an intelligent person, Evan stays firmly planted in his seat when Connor opens his mouth. “Do you really have any room to talk, Hansen? I mean, not that I mind you looking at me, but having someone stare at you all the time can be kind of distracting.” Connor throws Evan’s word right back in his face and this is—this is beyond worst case scenario, this is escalating to public embarrassment levels, and Evan needs to leave right now before things get even worse. Granted, Connor doesn’t sound particularly mad, but still.

“I’m—I haven’t—I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry, I’ll stop, sorry, sorry, I’m going to—I’ll just,” Evan’s face is burning and his hands are shaking which makes it really hard to shove his books into his backpack but he manages to get them in there and then he’s zipping up his bag and pushing his chair back, not meeting Connor’s eyes. He can see the surprise on Connor’s face in his periphery, but that doesn’t matter because—because Evan was being stupid, Jesus, he thought—he thought for a second that Connor might—but it was all just Connor getting back at him because Evan’s a freak and Evan, Evan deserves it, he really does, he deserves worse, he’s the _worst_. “I’m sorry.”

Then Evan is speed walking past the long tables and he can hear Connor saying his name but it’s distant and maybe it’s not—maybe it’s not even real, maybe it’s just Evan’s imagination, maybe Evan’s hallucinating because he’s even crazier than everybody thinks already, and—and he’s not going to make it back to his dorm in time, he’s not, he’s going to have a breakdown by the fountain in front of the library and then everyone’s going to know him as that loser kid who was crying by the fountain and he’s just going to—he’s going to—

He makes it to the drama building and he locks himself in one of the bathroom stalls and he’s crying before he can remind himself that he shouldn’t cry in a public place and he wants to go home, he just wants to go home.

Rationally, Evan knows he’s overreacting. He was already feeling bad before Connor spoke to him and what Connor said just aggravated his already shitty mood, but knowing that he’s blown what, in retrospect, was probably a joke out of proportion doesn’t make the tears stop and doesn’t even out his ragged breathing and doesn’t make him any less devastated.

By tomorrow, Evan will be—well, he won’t be good, but he’ll be okay. That’s how these things work—Evan has an exceptionally good few days, then he has a bad week, then he goes back to his normal, boring routine. It’s a cycle. But, right now, he’s in a bathroom stall with one of his arms wrapped tightly around himself and one hand pressed against his mouth, muffling the sounds of his crying. He feels too hot in his sweatshirt and sweatpants but seeing himself without either of those on right now would make everything worse, so he just continues to sit there as sweat stains the back of his sweatshirt and under his pits, hating the feeling off the damp fabric on his skin but not nearly calm enough to brave the trek back to his dorm. It feels like he’s been there forever when he finally stops crying.

Evan’s sure he looks like a mess, but he doesn’t care. He walks back to his dorm with his head down, ignoring everything around him, wishing he was already in his bed where he can sleep. Exam studying can wait ’til tomorrow.

Evan just wants to disappear.

Evan just wants to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it'll be happier next chapter (probably)
> 
> feel free to yell at me at @jaredkleinmanisanerd on tumblr!


	12. What Kind of College Student Can't Get Out of Bed?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan can't seem to get out of bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if this is kind of ooc. this is another "I need to get from point A to point B but I don't know how to do that well" chapter
> 
> comments/kudos/crit always welcome!

Evan needs to get up.

Sunlight is pouring through the window, casting shadows on the dorm room floor, preventing him from slipping back into the sweet embrace of sleep. He can feel the comforting warmth of the sun’s rays heating his blanket, soothing him in a way that nothing else ever could. Evan’s always loved the outdoors—the feel of the sun beating down on his exposed skin, the wonderful aroma of tree sap and flower blooms, the sound of small creatures scrambling up tree trunks and across the rough ground, the taste of fresh air on his tongue, the wondrous sight of nature living in beautiful harmony. Being outside among the trees has never failed to make him feel safe and at home.

Maybe he would feel better if he could convince his body to get up, to go outside, to feel the sun shining on his face and the bark of a tree against his fingertips. Maybe he would feel better if he took his textbooks outside, settling into studying for the day under one of the trees in the quad, feeling grounded by the presence of a tree trunk against his back. Maybe he would feel better if he opened the window, letting the breeze blow into his dorm room, cooling off his skin that feels too hot and tight, stretched thin across his tired, aching bones.

Or maybe he wouldn’t feel any better at all. Maybe he’s passed the point where some pretty flora can raise his mood, can remind him that some parts of life are easy. Maybe he really is hopeless like Dr. Miller seems to believe.

Evan knows he needs to get up. He knows he needs to study for his calculus exam tomorrow, he knows he needs to take a shower, he knows he needs to eat something. He knows he needs to respond to Zoe’s text asking if he’d like to come over to study for the enviro exam this weekend. He knows he needs to call his mom back and come up with an excuse about why he didn’t answer her calls last night, some reason besides the fact that he couldn’t bring himself to pick up his phone, let alone punch in her phone number and hold a conversation with her. He knows he needs to text Jared and make sure he’s still okay with giving Evan a ride home for winter break.

But he can’t. He can’t do anything but lie under his blanket, curled up in a ball, reliving his last interaction with Connor, remembering his break down in the bathroom with a heavy heart and a pit forming in his stomach.

He overreacted. That much is crystal clear. He took what was probably Connor’s poor attempt at a joke and transformed it into an insult that hit too close to home, that reawakened those feelings of inadequacy that had been dormant for the minute when he had almost convinced himself that Connor might like him.

Evan supposes that Connor has told Zoe that Evan is an oversensitive freak who can’t take a joke by now, so he can forget being friends with her. Whatever slim chance he had at forming some kind of relationship beyond classmate with Zoe Murphy is long gone now. She’ll probably never speak to him again. She’ll probably send a text any time now, rescinding her offer of studying together this weekend. She’ll probably avoid him like the plague from now on. Evan won’t blame her—he wishes he could avoid himself too. But, sadly, he’s stuck with himself. There’s no escape from his own annoying personality, his own stupidity, his own all encompassing self-hatred. Maybe that’s why he’s so tired all the time. He never gets a break from himself.

It’s nearly noon when he finally manages to climb out of bed. The fear of failing his calculus exam has finally overtaken the empty tiredness in his mind, so he can’t stay in his bed any longer without panicking about how he’s going to flunk his exam and have to retake calculus next semester and that would make him even more of a mess than he currently is.

Evan slumps in his desk chair, solving derivative and integral problems on autopilot, losing himself in the mundane task of completing practice problems. He eats a protein bar at some point when the empty feeling in his stomach becomes too much. He takes his meds hours later than he’s supposed to, but Evan doesn’t have the energy to be concerned about messing up his routine. He’ll hem and haw over that when he doesn’t feel like dying.

It’s getting dark outside when he finally retrieves his cell phone from where he dumped it in his desk drawer after returning to the dorm last night, sticky with sweat and dried tears. Evan takes a deep breath before flipping it open, mentally preparing himself for a few concerned texts from his mother and possibly a meme from Jared.

_Hey, honey, are you alright? Please call me back when you have time. Love you._

_I guess you’re busy studying, so good luck on your exams, sweetie! I know you’ll do great!_

_Get some good rest, Evan. I know how you run yourself ragged during exams._

_Remember to eat too. And take your meds._

_I love you! Have a good day!_

_Please text me back when you have time, sweetheart. I know you’re busy, but I just want to make sure you’re alright._

Evan’s chest aches. God, he’s such a shitty son. His mom deserves better than him.

He types out a response, apologizing profusely for not responding quicker, he accidentally let his phone die and he’s been studying all day, he remembered to sleep and eat and take his meds, he promises, and he loves her too and hopes she has a good day as well. He tells her he has an exam tomorrow, but he’s free to call her that night or the next day if she has time. If she doesn’t, it’s fine, he knows she’s busy.

_Yo, am I still driving you home for break?_

Evan sends off a quick text to Jared, saying something like yes, if that’s still alright with Jared. He doesn’t pay much attention to what he types exactly, just wanting to respond and be done with it.

_Hey, want to come over and study enviro this weekend?_

Evan pauses for a moment. Deep down, he knows he’ll be over this by the weekend. This momentary lapse in normal functioning—or whatever goes for normal functioning for Evan these days—will be a distant memory and he will have convinced himself that it won’t happen again, that it was a one time thing, that it’s not worth talking to Dr. Miller of his mother about. Still, as he’s in the thick of it, the idea of having to go over to Zoe’s apartment and spend a few hours studying and attempting to act like a normal human being sounds like an insurmountable obstacle. But, if he turns down the offer, Evan knows he’ll regret it. And, who knows, Zoe might tell him that the invitation has expired because he waited long enough that Connor’s told her about yesterday. So, he might as well say yes and wait for the inevitable rejection.

_Hey, Evan. It’s Connor. Connor Murphy. I just wanted to say I didn’t mean to upset you the other day. So, sorry that I did._

_Also, I got your number from Zoe, not by being a weird stalker, or something._

The message sounds curt and kind of stilted, like Connor wasn’t entirely sure how to text someone an apology. Or, text someone at all, really.

The apology is by no means a good apology—it comes off sounding more like “sorry you’re oversensitive” than “sorry I said something that was kind of douchey,” but it was more than Evan was expecting. It’s not like what happened was Connor’s fault. Evan _is_ oversensitive. He should’ve just brushed off the comment and laughed instead of running out of the library like a bat out of hell and sobbing in a gross public bathroom.

_It’s fine._

Evan’s thumb hovers over the send button before he backspaces through the message and tries again.

_You don’t need to apologize, I overreacted, it’s kind of a thing I do a lot._

Yeah, no, just tell him you’re an oversensitive cry baby who can’t handle confrontation. Because that wasn’t already blatantly obvious.

_It’s okay. Sorry I overreacted. Was having a bad day._

Evan sends the message before he can fret over it anymore because he doesn’t need to spend the rest of his night obsessing over how to properly respond to Connor’s unexpected apology. He returns the phone to its spot in his desk drawer and goes back to working calculus problems, pushing thoughts of Connor’s possible reply out of his head, trying to work through the bad mood that clings to him like a second skin, draining his energy and stealing his ability to function properly. Admittedly, Evan still feels awful, but getting up and moving around has made him feel slightly less awful, and he figures that’s the best he can hope for right now.

Once the sun has disappeared completely, Evan shuts his calculus book and crawls into bed, burying himself in the bed linens and telling himself that things will look better tomorrow, things will _be_ better tomorrow. He just needs to get through tonight and then things will be okay again.

Evan almost convinces himself that that’s true before he drifts off into a restless sleep.

Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed! feel free to hmu on tumblr at @jaredkleinmanisanerd!


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